Seasons- update

As the dry season progresses and the cooling effects of the Harmattan diminish, the days grow uncomfortably hot.
This week Bolgatanga has recorded afternoon temperatures of 40 degrees centigrade- uncomfortably above body heat!

Besides taking plenty of cold water, favourite for cooling off and refreshment are a non- alcoholic drink, Malta, which is sweet, but with the biting bitterness of malt, Alvaro, a fruit drink also malt flavoured, and Fan Ices.

Fan Ices- in strawberry, chocolate, vanilla or orange fruit (the last called Fandango) are sold in the bus parks by boys on bicycles.

At the Spot bars....

Loneliness

Prompted by an article in The Guardian about new levels of loneliness including the painful loneliness of loss and bereavement, conversations with  neighbours and work colleagues reveal surprise and shock that in the UK an elderly person may die alone in their home, the body not be discovered for days, even longer.

Partly a feature of lack of transport, of money to buy land or to build, of education and career, but also a deliberate choice of way of life, the pattern of extended families living together in a compound continues for the majority in the Upper East region of Ghana. Those who move away to study, or when directed to take a government post, will be offered shared accommodation, never a single occupancy residence.  Stopping, calling round or phoning to greet and ask after everyone’s health is part of the daily routine, and takes precedence when arriving at work, for example. In Africa, everyone is his brother's keeper.

“Aren’t you lonely?” I am asked, when mentioning that fellow housemates are away for a day or longer.

I say that with a mobile phone and the internet, I keep in touch with family and friends back at home, that there are volunteers nearby plus my Ghanaian friends. I don’t attempt to explain the actual pleasure of periods of time alone, and that this is not the same as loneliness. I choose not to reveal the occasional peering over an edge into a pit of despair, as thankfully these pass.

The children from one family compound- with my friend Fati.

When I then ask, to one who reveals he grew up in a family of ten children, what it was like at home each day, he holds his hands up, recalls constant arguments and noise, and goes on to describe how he saved, bought land and began building his own family home.

A woman sells prepared food by the roadside- washing bowls and pots- while carrying her sleeping baby on her back. Women carry out the household tasks, take  the main responsibility for bringing up the children and perform an estimated 80% of agricultural labouring. 

What is not discussed, but does happen here, as anywhere, is where the celebrated features of extended family living break down, through individuals not taking their share of responsibilities or a dominant individual inflicting misery on others,  but where individuals are trapped within, unable because of poverty,  disability, lack of education and alternatives to escape. And surely this must be a lonely place too?  For women, with restraints associated with poverty, lack of education, compounded by the traditions and religious conventions of male dominance superseding legal rights( for example ownership land), staying within the collective family fold is the only viable option.

Loneliness-and its fellow traveller boredom, are draining inflictions when circumstances entrap.

But for anyone happily free of such ties, they become the impetus for action, for change, for seeking out and finding.

Seasons.

Mid January- scene taken from the hills above Zebilla, marking the border with Burkina Faso. The hazy air is due to the Harmattan winds blowing sand from the Sahara. The Zinc roofs of the houses reflect the sunshine.

In northern Ghana there are two seasons: the rainy season lasts from April to August/ September; the dry season takes up the rest of the months. During the latter period, unless they have access to irrigation, for local farmers, this is a “rest” period in terms of cultivation, but for anyone with the means, building work to extend the family home is carried out. Dried and stored maize ensures a staple food source for the duration.

The simple predictability of the dry season weather, with temperatures cooler before and just after dawn  (especially when the Harmattan wind blows down from the Sahara) gives a pattern and stability to each day.

Late September, and the maize crop is taller than the children

By early November the maize has been gathered, but the grass remains  for grazing animals.  A road in Zebilla.

Late January. The parched ground leading to a compound, with  scorched stubble. Dwarfing the settlement, a fallen boabob tree.

Our neighbour hires a builder, who makes bricks from sand and cement.  Once moulded, they are watered twice a day until completely dried, then stacked ready for construction.

Harvested maize, drying within a compound.

Husks are stripped by hand, and saved for fuel.

Family compound- the building in the foreground is the grain store.  Dried sheaves provide fodder for animals.

So long, Farewell………….

.

Change, with new introductions and fond, sometimes tearful, farewells, is a normal part of life.

As a volunteer, with maybe 6 months, a year, two years in a placement, relationships with family and friends, the routines of home which combine to give a semblance of stability and permanence, are truncated and fragmented, with “Change” being the permanent feature.

Friendships between volunteers, and with Ghanaians are precious, some fleeting and brief, some with life-long potential, but typically involving the inevitable “Goodbye.” And so, “Farewell” events form part of any volunteer’s social calendar.

The three original housemates:- Emma, Nicole and Janice- at Emma's Farewell  and house Christmas Party.  (As from next week- I will be the only volunteer left in the house, for the time being.)

Emma is presented with a traditional Ghanaian smock- a gift from colleagues to take back to England.

Friends and work colleagues at Nicole's Farewell evening for "Sisters Together"

Leela wanted everyone to dress up as a Super-hero for her Farewell- and set the standard.

James wears his Super-Ted outfit. The bear costume is a Christmas gift posted out by an intuitive Aunt. My choice of colours represents the women's suffragette movement. G.I. Jane can be glimpsed in the background.

Gardeners' World

Gardeners’World- tree nursery.

Welcome!

My neighbour, James, has a tree nursery: it’s a commercial enterprise, operating adjacent to the family compound, covering an area about 25 metres by 30 metres.

Seedling trees- some of the thousands in James' nursery

Creating compost, fertilized by the family’s hens, prepared soil is packed into polythene sleeves, and seeds, collected from the nursery’s mahogany, mango, neme and pawpaw trees, are sown in threes, fours or fives, to be thinned later after germination. Water comes via the family’s well, is hand pumped into a wheel barrow, then distributed with watering cans twice each day. It’s a time and labour consuming business, given as often as possible to the younger men in the household, and vital for plant survival during the parched dry season which lasts from October until April.

The water is manually pumped up from the well

James learned the techniques of horticulture from Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) but in particular credits a previous volunteer from the USA Peace Corps, Dusty, who took James across borders to Burkina Faso, and later, through Togo to Benin, to observe and practice the skills which would suit northern Ghana’s seasons.  Then bulk orders from the EPA for thousands of seedling trees, to be used as windbreaks and for shade, around public projects, plus to secure soil and prevent desertification, (The Sahara desert is spreading) allowed James’ business to establish.

A mango- with a good full fruit (not a dental floss  variety) is grafted onto a stronger rooting stock. James indicates the grafting point.

The nursery, like any garden, allotment or plot, feels  soothing, peaceful   Within its chain link fence, essential as locally owned animals- the cows, donkeys, pigs, hens and guinea fowl- are all “free range”, the air feels fresher, the shade is cooling, the rustling of drying seed pods and green leaves is calming.

Creature comforts of a shed- without needing the shed:-seating, radio- tuned into the Africa Cup football commentary,  a snack.

School for Life 3

At Tarikom C I was introduced to long standing facilitator Ayendago Philip- himself a “dropout” who graduated from Ghana’s Non-Formal Education Division (NFED)- the adult and original version of School For Life, set up by the government in 1992 to combat adult illiteracy.

Philip’s dedication, optimism and commitment are infectious. His classroom (he has the use of a school room for afternoons, after regular school has dismissed) is full, some learners caring for younger siblings while studying, with additional smaller children hanging onto and peering through the open window frames.

As I enter, a welcomed visitor, the class stands and sings the School for Life song with gusto.

The class of learners and facilitator are clearly bonded: humour, encouragement, shared delight when an individual “gets it right,” tell me there is a confidence in this system beyond the skill of the teacher.

Later Philip proudly relates the ongoing successes of his protégés who, after their fixed nine months in School for Life are encouraged to enroll into their local primary school, but not the lowest grades. The grounding in phonics, in basic reading and writing, needed for the Kusaal primers used at School for Life, are sufficient for picking up the curriculum at Primary 2 level onwards and progressing through regular school, learning increasingly through the English language.

Ibrahim confirms these reports, and we ponder the possible reasons. School for Life learners are aged between 8 and 14 (ages declared and accepted as few have an actual certificate of birth date) –old enough to have some personal motivation and drive to learn. Organisers aim for a 50-50 mix of boys and girls. Learners are taught in their mother tongue- Kusaal, whereas mainstream schools use English as the national unifying language. Written Kusaal is completely regular, so once the phonic rules are known, reading is easy. Facilitators use a mix of classroom techniques: interactive activities, songs, questions and answers, short breaks with exercises, repetition to consolidate, and learner participation. Facilitators are recruited from and appointed by a locally elected committee of five, supported practically, trained and funded at subsistence by School for Life at district level. The School for Life year runs from October to June, with classes each afternoon from 2-5pm, after which successful graduates move to a local regular school and fulltime education. The timing of classes allows learners to first complete any family and farming tasks, or await siblings returning from mainstream school before attending.

This scheme, with financial backing from the UK Department for International Development (DfID), has been operating and growing over the last fifteen years, and is a model for successful, low level, local development, cutting across an entrenched failure to fulfill of one of the basic human rights: the Right to Education.

School for Life 2

Suddenly upon us was a three sided seating structure of high seating benches, cramped with assortedly clad children swinging their legs and loudly chanting to the conducting arm of one adult, whose frame made up the fourth side of a square.

This was our first stop,  Tarikom A, to watch 25 young “learners”, ages between 8-14, who have never been to school, or have dropped out, keenly applying their sound and symbol knowledge (phonics) to read personal copies of Karim Kusaal Buku 1 (translation- Kusaal reader Book 1- Kusaal is the local African language), each taking turns to perform then to answer questions.  The class then stood, stretched and sang, before returning to more language exercises.  Similarly, basic numeracy is also taught each day.

Facilitator at Tarikom A- who took over the class in tragic circumstances, inspired by his daughter who taught the previous year, then sadly died.

Taking to the red dust track again, after several minutes we swung to the left and crossed a dried field to reach the welcome shade of a large tree. Here, at Tarikom B school the same lively regime, using the same simple paperback text books, with the additional use of a chalkboard for illustration, instruction and learners participating, saw Ibrahim take the opportunity for some coaching of the facilitator (title of the class instructor) as he revised vowels with the learners- there are seven vowel sounds and symbols in Kusaal.

Ibrahim coaching the class- and facilitator- with some extra onlookers under the  tree.