9/7/09
My first day at Morning Star is one I won't forget in a hurry. West Africa still live in Victorian times apparently as they still use the cane. There were 3 children who received zero in a homework so the teacher (Paul) lined them up by the board to receive 10 canes on the hand each. The class chanted the counts whilst he caned the children. I'd never in my life seen these teaching methods before, where the teacher teaches his class to the rhythm of the cane. Anyway, after a week teaching with Paul and a brief chat with him about the negative effects violence has on children in the classroom, he hasn't used the cane once since last week. Paul and I share the teaching, but he keeps sitting me down at his desk and tells me to relax whilst he teaches and I have to frustratingly watch him spell Saturday, Seturday. He told me to do P E yesterday which didn't go down that well, as somehow it turned into an hour of playing drama games. Whoops. All in all school is a lot of fun, tiring but hilarious. And if I ever get bored of the children, many a goat and chicken are sure to visit me in my classroom throughout the day. The kids are great, I did ask them what the capital of Ghana was today though and they replied G. Hmmm, work in progress...
21/7/09
After a week at Morning Star, despite it being one of the most tiring jobs in the world I'm really enjoying it. I'm getting used to the structured days and the children asking me if they can 'free themselves' (just think about it literally). I have also decided to focus most of my attention on the teacher this week as I think helping him will be the most sustainable thing to do here. So we're working together most days, I evaluate his teaching and he tries to learn as much as he can off me. I was quite skeptical about doing this at first as I didn't want to stroll into the classroom as an educated white girl who claims to know everything, especially how to teach. To be honest I don't really know the foggiest myself. Due to no teaching training, this past week we have been focusing on planning lessons (a term he has never heard of quite shockingly) and also ways to keep the class calm. He no longer shouts and hasn't caned the kids since my first day. Laura, another volunteer at Morning Star takes my class once a week whilst I teach her class French. She commented on the improvement of the atmosphere of the class and how their concentration levels have increased. I understand that this is still a very small step towards changing the education system out here, however I truly believe that training Paul to become a more competent and well organised teacher will set him up to get a better job which is well paid and it will help him greatly in the long run.
I've been teaching quite a bit of french here also which is great, despite after the kids singing me a french song my response was, what language is that? The accent they are taught is entirely different so it's something I'm getting used to. There was no school today as it was pissing it down for 4 hours straight. And when it rains here, oh it pours...
This weekend a few of us headed to MOLE National Park. Around 5 hours away on the bumpiest road I have ever encountered. Another fascinating journey and the bumps were well worth it. We were greeted by elephants drinking from a watering hole and baboons waiting outside our dorm. We went on a 2 hour safari walk where we saw many a Pumba (Warthog) and antelopes. Needless to say the Lion King soundtrack was our sing song choice on the walk. There was a mystery incident however, involving a girl from california, her peanut butter, my rucksack and a baboon. I came back to my dorm to find my rucksack opened and peanut butter smothered all over it and my clothes. It turns out the welcoming baboon outside our dorm fancied some of the sweet spread and I guess he was looking through my bag for something to spread it on... A rather high maintenance baboon if you ask me.
30/7/09
Alex, another volunteer here in Tamale is working in a school where they have an amazing music and dance teacher. He arranged for some of us to have a lesson in traditional Ghanain dance and song. We were taught some dances equipped with drums, song, rhythm the works. The songs were quite similar to that of Rokia Traore - check her out, she's brilliant. We then went back to the same school today as some of the kids were putting on a performance. To our shock, when the kids had finished, the teacher got three of us up with him, and somehow we re-created what we learnt on Monday and performed it in front of the entire school. A truly embarrassing but hilarious moment. The crowd went wild...
It's been a bit slow at Morning Star this week as they currently have exams this week. Whilst they're completing their papers - equipped with painful spelling mistakes - I'm helping Paul with his reports. Feels a bit bizarre as I've only been in the classroom a few weeks. However, it has its benefits as its forced me to notice the really clever ones in the class and I'm making sure they get the praise and encouragement they deserve. Something which I feel is lacking in this school. It's really sad to think that some of these talents will be wasted in this society, due to lack of funding for further education. But don't worry I've already picked the ones which will be coming back with me in my suitcase...
Life is beginning to feel like normal now. This is something I thought I'd never feel at the beginning, but it's strange how you seem to adjust to even the most alien of environments.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
Friday, 31 July 2009
Our Experience teaching at Morning Star School by Laura and Cat
The classroom: Three planks of wood. An aluminium roof. No electricity. And worst of all, the ‘toilet’ is anywhere you want it to be. With an open space substituting for a door we are frequently visited by a selection of farmyard animals, including goats, chickens and lizards. Our shacks resemble stables more often than classrooms. On one occasion, a pupil returned to class to find his seat was being occupied by a chicken laying an egg. When monsoons hit, the lack of windows, never mind glass ones, makes teaching virtually impossible. Our shouts are drowned out by thunderstorms and rain floods the classroom, whilst the opportunity is seized by the kids who take to the muddy pools and return, stripping off their clothes, leaving us to attempt to teach stark naked, soaking wet children. As comical as this may sound, reality is tragic. Lacking these very basic necessities is, in turn, a huge obstruction to education. Imagine what the standard of education in England would be if school ceased to function every time it rained? To think that in our school days we had almost expected resources such as electronic blackboards and Apple Mac laptops, and most certainly never even questioned that we would have a seat to sit on, a pencil to write with and four walls to keep us dry. Everyone knows of the poverty that exists in Africa, but nothing can prepare you for when the Oxfam faces of malarial, malnourished children now have a personality and a story behind them.
The teachers were more than delighted to hand over their roles to us. As far as they were concerned, summer vacation had started early. Ever since our arrival they spend their days sitting in the playground playing football, sleeping, distracting our lessons by blasting out their music, or disappear completely with the excuse of “town”. Nevertheless, they need only to return once in a while with cane in hand to ensure their superiority will never be doubted. On one occasion we walked passed a classroom where every child was sitting in absolute silence with their head on their desk. Confused, we sat them up only to be stared back by a sea of tearstained faces and scarred palms. Their teacher, who had left them alone all day, was angry when he returned to a noisy classroom. Although we make clear our distaste towards their method of disciplining through use of the cane, we fear that we are fighting a losing battle against a deeply embedded cultural norm. Since the children themselves accept this as the proper and natural part of schooling, it is not surprising that the older children carry their own canes to use against the younger children and why this tradition has continued to be passed on from generation to generation of teachers.
Although at first we were impressed by the children’s use of intellectual vocabulary, we quickly learnt that such fancy terms were merely memorised definitions with little thought for their meaning. For instance, they can robotically recite a dictionary definition of what a computer is and a list of its functions, though most have never actually seen one. When we pushed them to think creatively their stories again highlighted the disparities between our childhood and theirs. Whilst our childhood creative stories had always involved some magical land where the hero would live ‘happily ever after’, we were surprised to see how normal it was for their stories to end with death or famine.
Despite these emotional challenges our experiences have most certainly not been devoid of laughter. Whether it be teaching a class of seven to twelve year olds about the importance of protective sex to prevent against HIV/ AIDS on the first day of school, or being told during a lesson on ways to combat water pollution, ‘Madam, Madam, stop shitting in the water!’, our kids never fail to amuse us. In fact, despite western world presumptions that a childhood without proper playgrounds, footballs, or even a pair of shoes to come to school with is not a proper childhood at all, these children laugh and play with an African happiness that certainly transcends the stiff upper English lip.
Regardless of the school’s current imperfections its inspirational origins are humbling. The school was founded by Madame Cecilia who was herself orphaned and suffered many hardships in her youth. She originally set up the school in her garage for orphaned girls who were being sent out to work as street-sellers. She begged their guardians to let them attend her school for free. As the governmental schools were not as well taught as the classroom in her garage she was finally persuaded to take children of both genders orphaned and not. In 2005 she was forced to move to a larger rented plot of land due to the increase in numbers where we now teach and she is saving money with Tzedek’s help to build a new school with walls and floors and books.
One of the children Morning Star has provided for is twelve year old Mohammed; a boy with no father, a crippled mother, and an amputated leg due to a snake bite where he was left to die and only found three days later. This is just one of the many cases. The very fact that the children feel fortunate to have the opportunity to go to school here embarrasses us as we remember every attempt we made to play truant. Morning Star not only offers these children an education but more importantly allows them to fulfil their childhood which is a rare and precious commodity in this country.
The teachers were more than delighted to hand over their roles to us. As far as they were concerned, summer vacation had started early. Ever since our arrival they spend their days sitting in the playground playing football, sleeping, distracting our lessons by blasting out their music, or disappear completely with the excuse of “town”. Nevertheless, they need only to return once in a while with cane in hand to ensure their superiority will never be doubted. On one occasion we walked passed a classroom where every child was sitting in absolute silence with their head on their desk. Confused, we sat them up only to be stared back by a sea of tearstained faces and scarred palms. Their teacher, who had left them alone all day, was angry when he returned to a noisy classroom. Although we make clear our distaste towards their method of disciplining through use of the cane, we fear that we are fighting a losing battle against a deeply embedded cultural norm. Since the children themselves accept this as the proper and natural part of schooling, it is not surprising that the older children carry their own canes to use against the younger children and why this tradition has continued to be passed on from generation to generation of teachers.
Although at first we were impressed by the children’s use of intellectual vocabulary, we quickly learnt that such fancy terms were merely memorised definitions with little thought for their meaning. For instance, they can robotically recite a dictionary definition of what a computer is and a list of its functions, though most have never actually seen one. When we pushed them to think creatively their stories again highlighted the disparities between our childhood and theirs. Whilst our childhood creative stories had always involved some magical land where the hero would live ‘happily ever after’, we were surprised to see how normal it was for their stories to end with death or famine.
Despite these emotional challenges our experiences have most certainly not been devoid of laughter. Whether it be teaching a class of seven to twelve year olds about the importance of protective sex to prevent against HIV/ AIDS on the first day of school, or being told during a lesson on ways to combat water pollution, ‘Madam, Madam, stop shitting in the water!’, our kids never fail to amuse us. In fact, despite western world presumptions that a childhood without proper playgrounds, footballs, or even a pair of shoes to come to school with is not a proper childhood at all, these children laugh and play with an African happiness that certainly transcends the stiff upper English lip.
Regardless of the school’s current imperfections its inspirational origins are humbling. The school was founded by Madame Cecilia who was herself orphaned and suffered many hardships in her youth. She originally set up the school in her garage for orphaned girls who were being sent out to work as street-sellers. She begged their guardians to let them attend her school for free. As the governmental schools were not as well taught as the classroom in her garage she was finally persuaded to take children of both genders orphaned and not. In 2005 she was forced to move to a larger rented plot of land due to the increase in numbers where we now teach and she is saving money with Tzedek’s help to build a new school with walls and floors and books.
One of the children Morning Star has provided for is twelve year old Mohammed; a boy with no father, a crippled mother, and an amputated leg due to a snake bite where he was left to die and only found three days later. This is just one of the many cases. The very fact that the children feel fortunate to have the opportunity to go to school here embarrasses us as we remember every attempt we made to play truant. Morning Star not only offers these children an education but more importantly allows them to fulfil their childhood which is a rare and precious commodity in this country.
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Dezra iii- day to day...
I have a morning routine:
1) Brunch bar: scoff it down praying the doxycycline (malaria pill) won’t remind me of its existence all day long.
2) Surf through a pile of clothing: The majority of these, I swore I wouldn’t wear again before washing due to walks through the markets (I spend most of my time closing my eyes nose and mouth!) and the state of children’s hands. However when you’re desperate- it’s surprising what a nights sleep does to your memory.
3) Power walk to the other house: By power walk I mean stroll and at least have in mind that I should be in some kind hurry. Although this is only by Western thought, Ghanaians generally have no concept of time.
4) Avoid human contact: However lovely greetings are through out the day- they can be a source of frustration- especially when there’s more than 5 people demanding different responses at once. More importantly though, if you’re planning on sitting in close proximity to someone afterward, is avoiding our little neighbour -as cute as he may look. I learnt the hard way. Only the other day, seconds after Shuku climbed up my legs and wrapped his own around my neck did I have a man cycle past, stop, and point to me commenting in broad Ghanaian accent, “shit, you have shit on you” before continue on his way!
5) Travel to Jana village: More often than not is an adventure in itself. On a standard day we break down, but on more eventful ones we experience anything from being handed a random baby for the entirety of the journey, saturated by torrential rain as it enters the non existent widow to just having the cab driver arrested by the police.
6) Arrive in village and enter the little cement class room: this normally involves me failing miserably to hide my amusement at the parrot fashion greeting of ‘gooood mornin’ maaadam’ and the ‘we ah fiiine thank you’ that immediately follows (despite not uttering a single word).
Over the last few weeks, much has become same old. Today however it was not same old. And I wished it was. Today my morning saw me with a family shattered by the loss of their child, that tiny girl who only days before led me by the hand to the home of her sick friend. I stood speechless infant of her 8 year old sister who, only hours after was eager to learn with her peers. Completely out of my depth and unaccustomed to their traditions, I could only follow sheepishly behind our teachers who had been waiting for us to arrive so we could pay our respects to the family. As I took off my shoes and stepped inside, the hundreds of statistics I had previously heard at home vanished. These are individuals. This is reality.
1) Brunch bar: scoff it down praying the doxycycline (malaria pill) won’t remind me of its existence all day long.
2) Surf through a pile of clothing: The majority of these, I swore I wouldn’t wear again before washing due to walks through the markets (I spend most of my time closing my eyes nose and mouth!) and the state of children’s hands. However when you’re desperate- it’s surprising what a nights sleep does to your memory.
3) Power walk to the other house: By power walk I mean stroll and at least have in mind that I should be in some kind hurry. Although this is only by Western thought, Ghanaians generally have no concept of time.
4) Avoid human contact: However lovely greetings are through out the day- they can be a source of frustration- especially when there’s more than 5 people demanding different responses at once. More importantly though, if you’re planning on sitting in close proximity to someone afterward, is avoiding our little neighbour -as cute as he may look. I learnt the hard way. Only the other day, seconds after Shuku climbed up my legs and wrapped his own around my neck did I have a man cycle past, stop, and point to me commenting in broad Ghanaian accent, “shit, you have shit on you” before continue on his way!
5) Travel to Jana village: More often than not is an adventure in itself. On a standard day we break down, but on more eventful ones we experience anything from being handed a random baby for the entirety of the journey, saturated by torrential rain as it enters the non existent widow to just having the cab driver arrested by the police.
6) Arrive in village and enter the little cement class room: this normally involves me failing miserably to hide my amusement at the parrot fashion greeting of ‘gooood mornin’ maaadam’ and the ‘we ah fiiine thank you’ that immediately follows (despite not uttering a single word).
Over the last few weeks, much has become same old. Today however it was not same old. And I wished it was. Today my morning saw me with a family shattered by the loss of their child, that tiny girl who only days before led me by the hand to the home of her sick friend. I stood speechless infant of her 8 year old sister who, only hours after was eager to learn with her peers. Completely out of my depth and unaccustomed to their traditions, I could only follow sheepishly behind our teachers who had been waiting for us to arrive so we could pay our respects to the family. As I took off my shoes and stepped inside, the hundreds of statistics I had previously heard at home vanished. These are individuals. This is reality.
Dezra ii - change...
Change, I have come to realise, is an entity not bound by time - despite what I naively believed before I came here, by money (again I’m very easily convinced) or by power. I believe change is governed only by the mind. If you will it, if you allow it to happen, or accept it, a difference can be made, even in one conversation.
The question is, from where, after a week of exhausting every raw emotion possible, has this new outlook arisen? The answer was even a surprise to me, pouncing on me from somewhere I least expected- Jana School, where I have found a new surge of respect. Within the space of 20 minutes, including two short prayers customary at the beginning and end of any meeting, the teachers had already come up with many ways of enforcing discipline without force or brutality. Listening to them speak- bearing in mind about how in Ghana caning is the cultural norm- it was hard not to feel proud of how quickly their attitude changed, even if it meant going against the grain. This certainly reflects Maltiti as an institution and the principles by which its stands, a charity that I believe is at the forefront of a significant shift in education. Setting a standard for others in the area, no child is overlooked. With each child given a chance to thrive I can now honestly say I feel extremely privileged to be a part of this ‘family’ they speak of.
As the sun was setting, a shard of light pierced through the corner of a window, shattering into thousands as it hit the metal gratings, bathing a group of children in a warm red and orange glow. It was at this point that I truly believed my new feeling, merely a week old were firmly anchored down, with no chance of escaping. Singing, dancing and drumming, the children’s spirit, kindled by our own (around five Sillymingers*) attracted more youngsters who began to flood in from the street. It was the negative space in this composition, the gap between the crowd however, that really captured my attention- A little girl hovering by the doorway- half cast in shadow, the other glowing in colour- a tiny baby strapped to her back. For me, this painted a picture of what was actually happening all around us, the real plight of youngsters here, and thus, just how important this gathering was.
Although MCF have set up after-school clubs every night to keep the children up to date with their learning (due to half the day being spent learning Arabic), these Wednesdays and Thursday advocacy classes aim to inform children of their rights to speak, be educated and to receive healthcare. It offers them the opportunity to voice this to their parents and others of authority through traditional dance, singing, poetry and debate. Many speak about topics including, HIV/AIDS, disease, protection against abuse, becoming orphans and being proud of their nationality.
The root causes of lack of education in rural villages are one of MCF’s major targets. Many of these children, like the ones I teach in Jana are forced to work before and after school in order to provide for their families.
Nevertheless, it is quite hard to fathom that this kind of poverty actually exists. Seeing it on an advert or even on the streets is tough enough, but when it is staring wide eyed in front of you in a class, the reality really hits home, and hard. Just yesterday a small girl of about 3 or 4 clambered on to my lap outside and fell asleep, exhausted from what I initially thought was the midday sun beating down on her head. (I can only imagine what my school is like in summer – bare foot and sparse clothing). However, as my hand caught the back of her neck, I realised she was burning with a fever (honestly as if I had touched a hot potato). Confirming this was the teacher who sadly explained this was most likely to be malaria. Although it is a disease that for westerners can be quite easily treated, for this village it is extremely expensive and particularly dangerous for young children, whose immune systems are not as developed. I thought about this on the journey to her hut, led by her equally tiny friend. How easy it would be for me to just gather the tablets myself? Unfortunately, it was at this point that I understood the true meaning of sustainability, something this would not promote. Eventually, I reached a group of women and an elderly lady who mirrored my outstretched arms to take the child. This was evidently not her mother. Oddly though, I did not think twice about my action, as I would have done at home. There are no strangers here- only a tribe whose closeness, in every aspect of life give a completely different meaning to the word community.
*Sillyminger: Dugbani for white people. Here it is common for people to refer to you by the colour of your skin. It takes a while to get used to not only due to the emphasis we have on P.C terms in England, but also because silly minger certainly isn’t a term you going to want to start splashing about in the uk!
The question is, from where, after a week of exhausting every raw emotion possible, has this new outlook arisen? The answer was even a surprise to me, pouncing on me from somewhere I least expected- Jana School, where I have found a new surge of respect. Within the space of 20 minutes, including two short prayers customary at the beginning and end of any meeting, the teachers had already come up with many ways of enforcing discipline without force or brutality. Listening to them speak- bearing in mind about how in Ghana caning is the cultural norm- it was hard not to feel proud of how quickly their attitude changed, even if it meant going against the grain. This certainly reflects Maltiti as an institution and the principles by which its stands, a charity that I believe is at the forefront of a significant shift in education. Setting a standard for others in the area, no child is overlooked. With each child given a chance to thrive I can now honestly say I feel extremely privileged to be a part of this ‘family’ they speak of.
As the sun was setting, a shard of light pierced through the corner of a window, shattering into thousands as it hit the metal gratings, bathing a group of children in a warm red and orange glow. It was at this point that I truly believed my new feeling, merely a week old were firmly anchored down, with no chance of escaping. Singing, dancing and drumming, the children’s spirit, kindled by our own (around five Sillymingers*) attracted more youngsters who began to flood in from the street. It was the negative space in this composition, the gap between the crowd however, that really captured my attention- A little girl hovering by the doorway- half cast in shadow, the other glowing in colour- a tiny baby strapped to her back. For me, this painted a picture of what was actually happening all around us, the real plight of youngsters here, and thus, just how important this gathering was.
Although MCF have set up after-school clubs every night to keep the children up to date with their learning (due to half the day being spent learning Arabic), these Wednesdays and Thursday advocacy classes aim to inform children of their rights to speak, be educated and to receive healthcare. It offers them the opportunity to voice this to their parents and others of authority through traditional dance, singing, poetry and debate. Many speak about topics including, HIV/AIDS, disease, protection against abuse, becoming orphans and being proud of their nationality.
The root causes of lack of education in rural villages are one of MCF’s major targets. Many of these children, like the ones I teach in Jana are forced to work before and after school in order to provide for their families.
Nevertheless, it is quite hard to fathom that this kind of poverty actually exists. Seeing it on an advert or even on the streets is tough enough, but when it is staring wide eyed in front of you in a class, the reality really hits home, and hard. Just yesterday a small girl of about 3 or 4 clambered on to my lap outside and fell asleep, exhausted from what I initially thought was the midday sun beating down on her head. (I can only imagine what my school is like in summer – bare foot and sparse clothing). However, as my hand caught the back of her neck, I realised she was burning with a fever (honestly as if I had touched a hot potato). Confirming this was the teacher who sadly explained this was most likely to be malaria. Although it is a disease that for westerners can be quite easily treated, for this village it is extremely expensive and particularly dangerous for young children, whose immune systems are not as developed. I thought about this on the journey to her hut, led by her equally tiny friend. How easy it would be for me to just gather the tablets myself? Unfortunately, it was at this point that I understood the true meaning of sustainability, something this would not promote. Eventually, I reached a group of women and an elderly lady who mirrored my outstretched arms to take the child. This was evidently not her mother. Oddly though, I did not think twice about my action, as I would have done at home. There are no strangers here- only a tribe whose closeness, in every aspect of life give a completely different meaning to the word community.
*Sillyminger: Dugbani for white people. Here it is common for people to refer to you by the colour of your skin. It takes a while to get used to not only due to the emphasis we have on P.C terms in England, but also because silly minger certainly isn’t a term you going to want to start splashing about in the uk!
Sunday, 26 July 2009
the football
The football. Last sunday I had one of the most insane "cultural experiences" of my life. (I am sorry I could not write sooner but I have been slightly under the weather.)
It is Real Tamale Utd. vs Ashgold and Tamale need to win or they will be relegated. The Stadium built by the Chinese and funded by the USA is worthy of England supporting about 20,000 seats and proper toilets. I fear for my life as Jess and I are pushed through a seething crowd of fans squashed into a tiny space whilst David tries to buy the tickets for 3cd (about $1.80)and the others are nowhere to be seen. Someone pulls us through a door and we are in the Stadium grounds where our lungs are able to take in some air. Jess and I wait quietly and patiently by the door minding our own business whilst soldiers with machine guns and sticks keep control. Every now and again another group of people burst through the door and we try to melt into the wall but nothing serious happens and finally our group makes its way through. Instead of the smell of fish and chips and beer, we are greated with soya kebabs and water sachets balanced on the heads of women. Instead of chants there is drums and every sort of homemade percussion which gives the whole game a tribal feel. We can sit where we like and we choose the half way line close to the front surrounded by fans. The atmosphere is one of humour, excitement and anxiety and the noise is wonderful. No other whites, No other women.
Before the match starts a half naked man with a snake comes on to the field- a traditional healer we find out later. He then joins a group of men who turn out to be chiefs and they all start fighting! Its Anarchy! The soldiers come to defuse the situation but everytime one chief pushes another the crowd stands up and shouts! Suddenly everyone stands up as the "commisioners" enter their VIP box and Real Tamale Utd. run on to the pitch followed by Ashgold. The only advertisement on the pitch is glo- the mobile network that is supporting the premiership.
The stadium is half full, the noise is deafening (though everyone is sitting down) and the whistle goes. At that moment we realise David went to get water 20 minutes ago and he isn't back- I breathe a sigh of relief as I see him walk down to our spot. It turns out he had been caught in a stampeed as fans tried to enter the stadium whilst the Police/army were spraying everyone with water and using their sticks. David had made a great escape and all was fine.
It turns out neither side were amazing at football but A for effort and tackling. RTU has a free kick, we hold our breathe, no goal. David tells us he heard last week the police teargassed the spectators because things got out of hand. Ashgold has a free kick! no goal. Don't worry though because we do not belong to a tribe so we will be fine. We decide however that we will leave ten minutes early if RTU are losing because there will be riots and the police have guns. A woman balancing biscuits on her head sells some goods in front of us. Medics are running on (with their little golf car) no.31 Ashgold is down! Luckily he was obviously faking and he can carry on playing. Random people are standing around the pitch and the soldiers are watching the game on the pitch. No.16 RTU is dribbling to the goal and! he misses. I cant help but think winning and losing is now a matter of life and death. I have never been so into my football!
The fat chiefs start another fight on the pitch- Mr. Chief in green does not understand you cannot just take the football because you want your side to win. A penalty to RTU! Its a shame we have to wait twenty minutes to take it because another fight breaks out on the pitch. We wonder why they seat all the fans together? are they crazy? yes. The crowd start throwing water sachets at the soldiers and the chiefs. Anarchy. Football continues and five minutes later we are all standing up shouting, RTU scored!!! Kadri is our man!
Unfortunately it starts another riot amongst the chiefs, the crowd are throwing things, the soldiers are coming! Its half -time and the situation difuses. We find out that most of the soldeirs were probably peace-keepers on the Lebanese border. Though there was at least half an hour injury time they were allowed 2 1/2 minutes and the next half of the game was more of the same. Fights, medics and subs with only one yellow card in the whole game! I asked how much the players were paid and I was told 3-400cd/month which is approximately 120-170 pounds. Not much.
RTU won one-nil and Katie even managed to fall asleep in the second half. At the end of the game instead of rioting there was massive rejoicing and cheering so we all went on to the pitch and were mobbed with calls of "snap me" with the camara or "marry me" which was a little less understandable. The referee had more protection than Obama as he was escorted from the field. What a day, what a game.
Talia Chain
It is Real Tamale Utd. vs Ashgold and Tamale need to win or they will be relegated. The Stadium built by the Chinese and funded by the USA is worthy of England supporting about 20,000 seats and proper toilets. I fear for my life as Jess and I are pushed through a seething crowd of fans squashed into a tiny space whilst David tries to buy the tickets for 3cd (about $1.80)and the others are nowhere to be seen. Someone pulls us through a door and we are in the Stadium grounds where our lungs are able to take in some air. Jess and I wait quietly and patiently by the door minding our own business whilst soldiers with machine guns and sticks keep control. Every now and again another group of people burst through the door and we try to melt into the wall but nothing serious happens and finally our group makes its way through. Instead of the smell of fish and chips and beer, we are greated with soya kebabs and water sachets balanced on the heads of women. Instead of chants there is drums and every sort of homemade percussion which gives the whole game a tribal feel. We can sit where we like and we choose the half way line close to the front surrounded by fans. The atmosphere is one of humour, excitement and anxiety and the noise is wonderful. No other whites, No other women.
Before the match starts a half naked man with a snake comes on to the field- a traditional healer we find out later. He then joins a group of men who turn out to be chiefs and they all start fighting! Its Anarchy! The soldiers come to defuse the situation but everytime one chief pushes another the crowd stands up and shouts! Suddenly everyone stands up as the "commisioners" enter their VIP box and Real Tamale Utd. run on to the pitch followed by Ashgold. The only advertisement on the pitch is glo- the mobile network that is supporting the premiership.
The stadium is half full, the noise is deafening (though everyone is sitting down) and the whistle goes. At that moment we realise David went to get water 20 minutes ago and he isn't back- I breathe a sigh of relief as I see him walk down to our spot. It turns out he had been caught in a stampeed as fans tried to enter the stadium whilst the Police/army were spraying everyone with water and using their sticks. David had made a great escape and all was fine.
It turns out neither side were amazing at football but A for effort and tackling. RTU has a free kick, we hold our breathe, no goal. David tells us he heard last week the police teargassed the spectators because things got out of hand. Ashgold has a free kick! no goal. Don't worry though because we do not belong to a tribe so we will be fine. We decide however that we will leave ten minutes early if RTU are losing because there will be riots and the police have guns. A woman balancing biscuits on her head sells some goods in front of us. Medics are running on (with their little golf car) no.31 Ashgold is down! Luckily he was obviously faking and he can carry on playing. Random people are standing around the pitch and the soldiers are watching the game on the pitch. No.16 RTU is dribbling to the goal and! he misses. I cant help but think winning and losing is now a matter of life and death. I have never been so into my football!
The fat chiefs start another fight on the pitch- Mr. Chief in green does not understand you cannot just take the football because you want your side to win. A penalty to RTU! Its a shame we have to wait twenty minutes to take it because another fight breaks out on the pitch. We wonder why they seat all the fans together? are they crazy? yes. The crowd start throwing water sachets at the soldiers and the chiefs. Anarchy. Football continues and five minutes later we are all standing up shouting, RTU scored!!! Kadri is our man!
Unfortunately it starts another riot amongst the chiefs, the crowd are throwing things, the soldiers are coming! Its half -time and the situation difuses. We find out that most of the soldeirs were probably peace-keepers on the Lebanese border. Though there was at least half an hour injury time they were allowed 2 1/2 minutes and the next half of the game was more of the same. Fights, medics and subs with only one yellow card in the whole game! I asked how much the players were paid and I was told 3-400cd/month which is approximately 120-170 pounds. Not much.
RTU won one-nil and Katie even managed to fall asleep in the second half. At the end of the game instead of rioting there was massive rejoicing and cheering so we all went on to the pitch and were mobbed with calls of "snap me" with the camara or "marry me" which was a little less understandable. The referee had more protection than Obama as he was escorted from the field. What a day, what a game.
Talia Chain
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Amy's first blog
Yesterday I went into a rural village for my first time on this trip. What i saw was just poverty and I can't think of a better word or a more meaningful one. The dusty roads and mut huts that I see from a foreigners eyes as 'quaint' or 'typically African' are in reality these peoples homes, and If felt almost guilty for having taken pictures ones we'd passed, from a bus we went on to Mole NAtional Park. But there's nothing I can change about that whilst I'm out here - thats how people in these villages live. Development has to start at a smaller scale and that, hopefully, I can help with.
Yesterday I started my part time work at a school with an organisation called Maltiti, which shows parents the importance of giving their children an education, and sets up schools and after school clubs for the children to be sent to. The organisation is doing some amazing work - I hate to think what these children would be doing without it seeking to give them an education. WE actually saw a a 10 year old girl with a bucket on her head going into town to sell her produce. Her parents don't see the point in sending her to school. In this kind of rural village, the concept of having an education has to be justified to parents - how strange a concept to us! But since they believe their children will work the fields, or sell goods in town or in the market (not only 'when they grow up', but now when they're young too), they don't see the point in their children growing up knowing to read and write.
The school is in the village so it is accessible to the community, but there are no resources to teach with. I've started to think back to my primary school and just how many square objects and colours were in the room even, that we could learn from, makes me realize how priviledged I had it when I was young.
I also work at an NGO called PROWACID which carries out women and childrens empowerment projects in these rural communities. The focus of this NGO and Maltiti are to assert rights in these rural villages which should really be a given. PROWACID carries out small scale projects though, and seems to have focused recently on changing the traditional roles of women in these communities. Not only have they had to teach families that domestic violence is wrong (how 1950s is that!?!), but they also are persuading these communities that women and young girls should have opportunities to education, skill learning, and taking part in decision making. Right up my political street, as the organisation has encouraged women to stand for district elections, as well as encouraging people to vote for a woman, and has got a few women elected - though hardly a proportional amount! It's also like asserting feminism here - something I strongly advocate (maybe from my suffragist-school-upbringing...)
At the moment though, we are working mainly on securing funds to carry out individual projects. The projects seem to be quite sustainable as they use drama workshops, forums for discussion and one on one chats in order to get across the rights that the project is focussing on.
So that is a very vague overview of what I'm doing here. But hopefully as time goes on, I will be able to see the bigger picture of what both projects do and be able to see the results of my work.
To end on a light note, we had sooo much rain this morning that we're all enjoying a break from being constantly sweaty! And a few of us went to Mole NAtional PArk on Saturday...and then we all enjoyed a strange Tamale vs. Accra football match on Sunday which will be blogged soon!
Much love to all
Amy x
Yesterday I started my part time work at a school with an organisation called Maltiti, which shows parents the importance of giving their children an education, and sets up schools and after school clubs for the children to be sent to. The organisation is doing some amazing work - I hate to think what these children would be doing without it seeking to give them an education. WE actually saw a a 10 year old girl with a bucket on her head going into town to sell her produce. Her parents don't see the point in sending her to school. In this kind of rural village, the concept of having an education has to be justified to parents - how strange a concept to us! But since they believe their children will work the fields, or sell goods in town or in the market (not only 'when they grow up', but now when they're young too), they don't see the point in their children growing up knowing to read and write.
The school is in the village so it is accessible to the community, but there are no resources to teach with. I've started to think back to my primary school and just how many square objects and colours were in the room even, that we could learn from, makes me realize how priviledged I had it when I was young.
I also work at an NGO called PROWACID which carries out women and childrens empowerment projects in these rural communities. The focus of this NGO and Maltiti are to assert rights in these rural villages which should really be a given. PROWACID carries out small scale projects though, and seems to have focused recently on changing the traditional roles of women in these communities. Not only have they had to teach families that domestic violence is wrong (how 1950s is that!?!), but they also are persuading these communities that women and young girls should have opportunities to education, skill learning, and taking part in decision making. Right up my political street, as the organisation has encouraged women to stand for district elections, as well as encouraging people to vote for a woman, and has got a few women elected - though hardly a proportional amount! It's also like asserting feminism here - something I strongly advocate (maybe from my suffragist-school-upbringing...)
At the moment though, we are working mainly on securing funds to carry out individual projects. The projects seem to be quite sustainable as they use drama workshops, forums for discussion and one on one chats in order to get across the rights that the project is focussing on.
So that is a very vague overview of what I'm doing here. But hopefully as time goes on, I will be able to see the bigger picture of what both projects do and be able to see the results of my work.
To end on a light note, we had sooo much rain this morning that we're all enjoying a break from being constantly sweaty! And a few of us went to Mole NAtional PArk on Saturday...and then we all enjoyed a strange Tamale vs. Accra football match on Sunday which will be blogged soon!
Much love to all
Amy x
Sunday, 19 July 2009
I work a lot based in the CIAHT office. Its three small dark rooms in a construction site where unemployed men hang out all day. It has no internet and the stained moldy walls are filled with different social issue posters and newspaper clippings of the organizations great work. The employees come and go they are all really friendly. They have comic Ghanaian music videos playing in the background and employees taking naps on the floor is a normal occurrence.
My first task was to look at a proposal for money from Finland, for a project to find and rehabilitate trafficked women. There was a lot of problems with it and although I was a bit nervous to speak so boldly. I explained it needed [in my opinion] re-writing a better structure and the English was awful. I was a bit unsure, who was I to come into their organisation and give advice? My logic was that If I couldn't understand things , the people in Finland wouldn't either.We re-wrote the whole thing in more detail.
I asked my boss a lot of questions about the project, so I could put the details into the proposal I felt he'd left out. He said they wanted to rescue 150 women from being trafficked ,many would have been forced into prostitution. The organisation then give them economic,medical and emotional rehabilitation. He said that they get one hour with a councilor for the emotional rehabilitation. I was in shock. Just imagine one hour ,then on your way, 'sorry about the ten years of prostitution and abuse but thats all we've got time for, have a nice life!'. I asked why so little and he replied it wasn't ideal but there are no counseling services in Tamale. I suggested they start mutual support with group therapy, or maybe train victims to volunteer as councilors. One of hand comment was turned the next day a step closer to reality as my boss found someone willing to facilitate the support group and do the training for free.
The idea then took shape as a friend suggested that a research project should be done about counseling in Tamale. I didn't know what this was but apparently its before an NGO makes a project of action an in depth study is don't to look at the current situation and what should be done. Talia [a friend on the program] and I are gong to work together on it. It will consist amongst other things of asking what are the counsellings provisions now? Interviewing women to see what they want and suggesting what could be in the future.
My organisation is confident funding can be secured and even wants to start a new organisation for victims of human trafficking! Its really overwhelming and exciting and two months suddenly doesn't seem like enough. Theres too much to be done.
lucy
My first task was to look at a proposal for money from Finland, for a project to find and rehabilitate trafficked women. There was a lot of problems with it and although I was a bit nervous to speak so boldly. I explained it needed [in my opinion] re-writing a better structure and the English was awful. I was a bit unsure, who was I to come into their organisation and give advice? My logic was that If I couldn't understand things , the people in Finland wouldn't either.We re-wrote the whole thing in more detail.
I asked my boss a lot of questions about the project, so I could put the details into the proposal I felt he'd left out. He said they wanted to rescue 150 women from being trafficked ,many would have been forced into prostitution. The organisation then give them economic,medical and emotional rehabilitation. He said that they get one hour with a councilor for the emotional rehabilitation. I was in shock. Just imagine one hour ,then on your way, 'sorry about the ten years of prostitution and abuse but thats all we've got time for, have a nice life!'. I asked why so little and he replied it wasn't ideal but there are no counseling services in Tamale. I suggested they start mutual support with group therapy, or maybe train victims to volunteer as councilors. One of hand comment was turned the next day a step closer to reality as my boss found someone willing to facilitate the support group and do the training for free.
The idea then took shape as a friend suggested that a research project should be done about counseling in Tamale. I didn't know what this was but apparently its before an NGO makes a project of action an in depth study is don't to look at the current situation and what should be done. Talia [a friend on the program] and I are gong to work together on it. It will consist amongst other things of asking what are the counsellings provisions now? Interviewing women to see what they want and suggesting what could be in the future.
My organisation is confident funding can be secured and even wants to start a new organisation for victims of human trafficking! Its really overwhelming and exciting and two months suddenly doesn't seem like enough. Theres too much to be done.
lucy
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