Things in this land of beans and rice are going well, at least for me. It has been a little over three months since the big training and so far my teachers are doing well! In April we will get together as a large group for the first time since November to conduct the second workshop – Mid-term Evaluation. There we will talk about Life Skills via exchanges on best practices; problems encountered; proposed solutions and techniques for behavior change.
On Thursday Togo had its presidential elections. Although we Peace Corps Volunteers are obligated to stay away from political gathers and advised to avoid gatherings of any kind during political times… I took a little spin on my bike the day of the elections and the day after to check out the mayhem. In fact, I saw nothing of interest on my mid-day rides (I should have gone first thing in the morning to catch the real voting action!) but I did take a moment to appreciate the feeling of calm before the storm.
Last time Togo held elections in 2005, violence ensued and hundreds of people were killed in protests and riots following the elections. This time around, so far, things have been relatively calm. There were allegedly grenades and guns shots on Saturday in one neighborhood of the capital but other than that we’ve heard next to nothing. So it appears that: this year’s free and unfair election will pass without serious bloodshed; the European Union election supervisors will declare the process non-transparent; nothing will change and everyone will move on.
Despite the political climate, my little world turns. I’ve been making rounds to the high schools to observe our educators teaching Life Skills. In every class, I say a few words, usually at the end of the lesson but sometimes in the beginning or middle too. After it is over, I have either a one-on-one or a small group meeting to give feedback.
In the French system feedback is generally more direct – much less praise and much more critique. The grading system is x/20 where a decent and passing grade is 12/20 and 10/20 is not good but also not failure. As an American can you imagine getting 60% on a test and thinking that this was decent? So needless to say, my feedback sessions are usually a pleasure for everyone. True to my American form I start with a heck of a lot of praise, I think that went very well… I appreciated that you did this… I’m glad that this came across like that… and by the time I get to the actual criticisms they are so buried in fluff that everyone walks away feeling great about the session!
I don’t know about the effectiveness of my technique but the bottom line is this: I can’t teach teachers how to teach. I try never to forget this. My role has been that of a catalyst, an organizer, a monitor and most importantly perhaps, a heartfelt support. I want these people to want to advance in this work. I want them to feel that they are making change, doing good and accomplishing their small part.
I also want them to quantify their work and figure out how to reach up – in a society where everything comes from the top to the bottom – and touch their superiors through periodic reporting and relevant facts. This is the hardest part. How do you measure behavior change? How do you quantify self confidence? Who is monitoring students’ ability to communicate? Who can evaluate their interactions in private groups? Relationship management and decision making skills are all about teaching these kids to own and shape their futures. There is no easy answer on how to measure all this although the ongoing discussion is vibrant.
Before I started my observation visits – I stopped by each class or group just to introduce myself. Invariably the principal or vice principal would give me a lofty and/or comical introduction…
Here we have Christina Sobiloff the representative for Peace Corps America!
Here we have the white woman I told you about, Life Sills project organisatrice!
Here we have Madame Christina, an American who can speak French!
Here we have Miss Christina, a beautiful woman … look at her kids!
Here we have an American, who will seduce you with her accent in French!
Here we have Sister Christina who is basically a nun!
You may be wondering how I was basically called a seductress and a nun all in the space of one week. I ask myself the same thing. But I recall the words of one of my primary counterparts after the director for the Girls’ Education and Empowerment program gave a speech: she’s seductive, he said, to describe how compelling was the delivery of her message. An American would not have used my counterpart’s word to describe the appeal of the presentation. Seduction and sex would have nothing to do with it. I’m also not sure that is exactly what he meant. But if the intelligent and dynamic director of my program seduces her audience, that’s exactly what I want to do too. Next time, I’ll hope it is with my words and not my accent.
Finally, I’ve tried to explain to the one high school principal who insists on calling me Sister Christina, that I am NOT a nun and there is no need to call me Sister. Nonetheless, he persists. At least in his school the boys aren’t shouting out that they love me, no, surely those young boys understand that I am eternally and faithfully married to God.
10 March 2010
17 February 2010
Dog Tired
What’s the difference between a sick day in West Africa and one in the States?
Twelve colleagues, direct from the workplace, visiting you at home.
That’s right. On Monday I wasn’t feeling well so I called in sick to my morning meeting at the guild. A classic 12-hour stomach bug induced by expired lentils and too much moldy jam – yes embarrassing – but in retrospect, true.
So I lay on the couch, tried not to move, and hoped the electricity would hold out at least for the morning. Of course I should have seen it coming. I should have put on a bra; I should have washed my face and I should have brushed my teeth. But nausea is a great equalizer and the effort of moving from the bed to the couch was enough for the first hour of the morning. Pouring a glass of water to sip was about it for the second.
Of course, around sometime before noon the first two guests came a knocking.
I’m coming… uh yes, hi. How are you. How was the session this morning? Yes I don’t feel great but its fine. You are here to visit, how nice. At this point I sat down in the one weensy corner of shade, on the ground. Sooo, should I get you a chair. Yes? Right. Wait, you say there are more? POURQUOI??? (Out loud, whoops!)
So at this point the effort of standing back up and slipping through the approximately two feet of direct sunlight before heading inside toward the chairs, of course, induced vomiting. Lovely. Just in time for the guests. Two more arrived. Then four more again. Oh hello, how are you all. You came to visit. I’m fine. Really. Now I ran out of chairs and the second thing the president of the guild said to me upon arrival went something like, What?? But there is sunlight here? But… No shade. Where. How. We must go inside. HOW??
OK, fine. Grab the chairs and come in the house that’s fine. Then my counterpart who always graces me with French and never tries to befuddle me in local language goes for the traditional greeting of we are come to visit you, oh sick friend, to give you the encouragement, courage and human company necessary to heal, don’t worry, God will forever hold you in the palm of His magnanimous, beneficent hand so let us pray. And I’ll pray too right after I throw away that moldy jam those expired lentils.
And OK – maybe he didn’t say all this in Ewe and said something else more like Goodmorning. How did you wake up? How are things in your home? But I’ll hear what I want to when my usually wonderful counterpart refuses to communicate in a language that he speaks perfectly and that I understand. AND when, meanwhile, he is leading the troops in a tradition SOO far from AMERICAN that I want to ask all twelve people have you MET me? Who thought this was a GOOD idea?
And anyway, that first thing is totally what they WOULD have said if that had thought of it before hand…
People are very Christian here in Togo. First thing every day my host family listens to church from about 5:30 to 7:00 in the morning except on Sundays when they actually go there and afford me a precious few hours free of depressing, unharmonious chanting bleating from their staticky radio. On weekdays, if I’m still around the house, from about 7:00 onwards in the morning another neighbor takes over Christian radio duty and plays more depressing chants until the sun really starts to get hot.
Luckily I experienced it all yesterday morning when I had my sick day. Thankfully, by late afternoon I felt MUCH better. Well enough to make some margarine pasta and eat it so yeah!
That evening, after a boring day alone I decided to hang with the host family for a bit and maybe even try eating again. We got to talking about the family dog. His name, I recently learned, is Ideal. In six months I have never once touched this animal essentially living in my courtyard and dog lovers please don’t take this the wrong way. NO ONE touches this dog or most other dogs in Togo, Burkina, etc. unless the plan is to kick it or apparently… I’ll come back to that.
Well, one other time recently Mama and I got to talking about this dog and she explained to me that really, she loves the thing. He’s the perfect kind of dog because he does his rightful job of guarding the home and barking like crazy upon seeing any intruders (including me – the confusing white member of the family – often enough). We got to talking about him again last night while I recalled our last conversation about Ideal.
He smells. He is dirty and smells very bad but we can’t wash him because if we try to touch him he will bite.
Oh, well, you know. You’ll figure it out.
No he is too dirty I am thinking of getting rid of him.
But no, last time we talked you said he was a good dog! You love him, no?
Yes he is a good dog but he is too dirty now and I think I will sell him and get a new dog.
But who will buy someone’s old guard dog anyhow? Won’t they have the same problems as you?
No of course not, we will sell him to another ethnicity – there are some that will buy and eat dogs.
Aah. Ok. (pause) So why don’t you just eat him yourselves?
Our ethnicity does NOT eat dogs!
Twelve colleagues, direct from the workplace, visiting you at home.
That’s right. On Monday I wasn’t feeling well so I called in sick to my morning meeting at the guild. A classic 12-hour stomach bug induced by expired lentils and too much moldy jam – yes embarrassing – but in retrospect, true.
So I lay on the couch, tried not to move, and hoped the electricity would hold out at least for the morning. Of course I should have seen it coming. I should have put on a bra; I should have washed my face and I should have brushed my teeth. But nausea is a great equalizer and the effort of moving from the bed to the couch was enough for the first hour of the morning. Pouring a glass of water to sip was about it for the second.
Of course, around sometime before noon the first two guests came a knocking.
I’m coming… uh yes, hi. How are you. How was the session this morning? Yes I don’t feel great but its fine. You are here to visit, how nice. At this point I sat down in the one weensy corner of shade, on the ground. Sooo, should I get you a chair. Yes? Right. Wait, you say there are more? POURQUOI??? (Out loud, whoops!)
So at this point the effort of standing back up and slipping through the approximately two feet of direct sunlight before heading inside toward the chairs, of course, induced vomiting. Lovely. Just in time for the guests. Two more arrived. Then four more again. Oh hello, how are you all. You came to visit. I’m fine. Really. Now I ran out of chairs and the second thing the president of the guild said to me upon arrival went something like, What?? But there is sunlight here? But… No shade. Where. How. We must go inside. HOW??
OK, fine. Grab the chairs and come in the house that’s fine. Then my counterpart who always graces me with French and never tries to befuddle me in local language goes for the traditional greeting of we are come to visit you, oh sick friend, to give you the encouragement, courage and human company necessary to heal, don’t worry, God will forever hold you in the palm of His magnanimous, beneficent hand so let us pray. And I’ll pray too right after I throw away that moldy jam those expired lentils.
And OK – maybe he didn’t say all this in Ewe and said something else more like Goodmorning. How did you wake up? How are things in your home? But I’ll hear what I want to when my usually wonderful counterpart refuses to communicate in a language that he speaks perfectly and that I understand. AND when, meanwhile, he is leading the troops in a tradition SOO far from AMERICAN that I want to ask all twelve people have you MET me? Who thought this was a GOOD idea?
And anyway, that first thing is totally what they WOULD have said if that had thought of it before hand…
People are very Christian here in Togo. First thing every day my host family listens to church from about 5:30 to 7:00 in the morning except on Sundays when they actually go there and afford me a precious few hours free of depressing, unharmonious chanting bleating from their staticky radio. On weekdays, if I’m still around the house, from about 7:00 onwards in the morning another neighbor takes over Christian radio duty and plays more depressing chants until the sun really starts to get hot.
Luckily I experienced it all yesterday morning when I had my sick day. Thankfully, by late afternoon I felt MUCH better. Well enough to make some margarine pasta and eat it so yeah!
That evening, after a boring day alone I decided to hang with the host family for a bit and maybe even try eating again. We got to talking about the family dog. His name, I recently learned, is Ideal. In six months I have never once touched this animal essentially living in my courtyard and dog lovers please don’t take this the wrong way. NO ONE touches this dog or most other dogs in Togo, Burkina, etc. unless the plan is to kick it or apparently… I’ll come back to that.
Well, one other time recently Mama and I got to talking about this dog and she explained to me that really, she loves the thing. He’s the perfect kind of dog because he does his rightful job of guarding the home and barking like crazy upon seeing any intruders (including me – the confusing white member of the family – often enough). We got to talking about him again last night while I recalled our last conversation about Ideal.
He smells. He is dirty and smells very bad but we can’t wash him because if we try to touch him he will bite.
Oh, well, you know. You’ll figure it out.
No he is too dirty I am thinking of getting rid of him.
But no, last time we talked you said he was a good dog! You love him, no?
Yes he is a good dog but he is too dirty now and I think I will sell him and get a new dog.
But who will buy someone’s old guard dog anyhow? Won’t they have the same problems as you?
No of course not, we will sell him to another ethnicity – there are some that will buy and eat dogs.
Aah. Ok. (pause) So why don’t you just eat him yourselves?
Our ethnicity does NOT eat dogs!
06 January 2010
Training of Trainers Photos
AT GUILD - Training tradesmen to teach Life Skills
PC Togo Country Director & Director for Girls' Education visit
Group challenge - Flip the Boat
Group challenge - Bring Water to the Village
"Family Photo"
AT HIGH SCHOOL - Training school inspectors, principals, vice principals & teachers to facilitate Life Skills lessons
Role playing - Rita and Lucy
Talking to the group
Group challenge - The Human Knot
Working on an action plan
Chief school inspector, me & group Gbatope
Icebreaker - Find the Leader
Group work
Introducing closing ceremony
Chief school inspector & Peace Corps Director of Girls' Education
"Family Photo"
PC Togo Country Director & Director for Girls' Education visit
Group challenge - Flip the Boat
Group challenge - Bring Water to the Village
"Family Photo"
AT HIGH SCHOOL - Training school inspectors, principals, vice principals & teachers to facilitate Life Skills lessons
Role playing - Rita and Lucy
Talking to the group
Group challenge - The Human Knot
Working on an action plan
Chief school inspector, me & group Gbatope
Icebreaker - Find the Leader
Group work
Introducing closing ceremony
Chief school inspector & Peace Corps Director of Girls' Education
"Family Photo"
13 December 2009
Click there to laugh at the Sobiloffs --->
In the month of October, I asked for your help funding a project to train select educators/ tradesmen in Life Skills and launch youth clubs. And... you did it! Thanks to you, I was able to raise the full $5007 and, in the month of November, execute the trainings in Life Skills which constitute the first phase of the project! YOU ARE AWESOME. Thank you!!!
Also, the trainings went very well! Superintendents, high school principals, vice principals and select teachers from five school in and around Tsévié (my site) met for three days of training. We focused on techniques for teaching Life Skills and challenges for affecting behaviour change in youth; gender sensitivity and strategies for attending to the differing needs of boys and girls; men as partners and girl-friendly environments; actioning planning and project implementation/ evaluation.
Now each of the five high schools has launched Life Skills classes or clubs that will touch hundreds of students and affect the tenth grade curriculum for the rest of the school year...
One of my schools is out in the bush - it was founded just two years ago and to visit, I had to bike through somebody's cornfield on a path, at times, not much wider than a foot.
Another one of the high schools invited me to their weekly flag-raising ceremony. I got up soon after 5 am to be able get ready and bike there before 6:40 am. After the ceremony the principal asked me to say a few words before the entire student body. I asked how many students I was looking at - eleven hundred.
At one of the two schools in Tsévié, I went class to class to greet participating tenth grade students. When I asked how they liked their first lesson (which their teachers had given them earlier in the week) they whooped and hollered that it was EXCELLENTE! FANTASTIQUE! FORMIDABLE!
The second part of the project is at a local guild which unites various tradesmen and women - carpenters, electricians, photographers, tailors, hair dressers and blacksmiths, to name a few. Here, a group of five young adults who had already been trained in Life Skills at an annual Peace Corps summer camp, facilitated around 10 hours of training to a select group of tradesmen. Starting on January 11, these tradesmen will begin a rotation as teachers of a weekly class on Life Skills for their apprentices. At least 50 apprentices, if not more, should be present at any given weekly Life Skills session.
In Togo, youth who abandon their formal education can become apprentices and learn a trade. The education level of these apprentices, therefore, varies a lot. Some have almost completed high school, others never finished junior high or primary school. Since the French language level of many of these young people is very low, the lessons will be conducted in local language - Ewe.
I'll put up pictures of this stuff in my next post but for now let me say, again, THANK YOU.
Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!
P.S. Did you check out our TV special with Sandre Lee? :) Life is unfair - I still haven't been able to watch it but why should I deny you a link? click here to laugh at the Sobiloffs
Also, the trainings went very well! Superintendents, high school principals, vice principals and select teachers from five school in and around Tsévié (my site) met for three days of training. We focused on techniques for teaching Life Skills and challenges for affecting behaviour change in youth; gender sensitivity and strategies for attending to the differing needs of boys and girls; men as partners and girl-friendly environments; actioning planning and project implementation/ evaluation.
Now each of the five high schools has launched Life Skills classes or clubs that will touch hundreds of students and affect the tenth grade curriculum for the rest of the school year...
One of my schools is out in the bush - it was founded just two years ago and to visit, I had to bike through somebody's cornfield on a path, at times, not much wider than a foot.
Another one of the high schools invited me to their weekly flag-raising ceremony. I got up soon after 5 am to be able get ready and bike there before 6:40 am. After the ceremony the principal asked me to say a few words before the entire student body. I asked how many students I was looking at - eleven hundred.
At one of the two schools in Tsévié, I went class to class to greet participating tenth grade students. When I asked how they liked their first lesson (which their teachers had given them earlier in the week) they whooped and hollered that it was EXCELLENTE! FANTASTIQUE! FORMIDABLE!
The second part of the project is at a local guild which unites various tradesmen and women - carpenters, electricians, photographers, tailors, hair dressers and blacksmiths, to name a few. Here, a group of five young adults who had already been trained in Life Skills at an annual Peace Corps summer camp, facilitated around 10 hours of training to a select group of tradesmen. Starting on January 11, these tradesmen will begin a rotation as teachers of a weekly class on Life Skills for their apprentices. At least 50 apprentices, if not more, should be present at any given weekly Life Skills session.
In Togo, youth who abandon their formal education can become apprentices and learn a trade. The education level of these apprentices, therefore, varies a lot. Some have almost completed high school, others never finished junior high or primary school. Since the French language level of many of these young people is very low, the lessons will be conducted in local language - Ewe.
I'll put up pictures of this stuff in my next post but for now let me say, again, THANK YOU.
Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!
P.S. Did you check out our TV special with Sandre Lee? :) Life is unfair - I still haven't been able to watch it but why should I deny you a link? click here to laugh at the Sobiloffs
28 November 2009
Guest Post: Mike Sobiloff
Hello all, just a reminder that anyone kind and cool enough to visit me in West Africa is invited to write a guest post for my blog. Voila, thus, a message from my loving bro who came to visit me in BF not once but TWICE! while he studied abroad in Ghana. Love you, Michael. And merci beaucoup!
I’ve been meaning to write an entry in my sister’s blog for months now, but as things go, it took me a while to finally buckle down and do it. But I’m glad I did.
I had the fortune of visiting Belehede with two of my friends during my five-month stay in Ghana. It was a weird feeling going to a place that I had been hearing about for nearly two years at that point. Before that, Belehede was kind of an abstraction to me—in the middle of nowhere, no electricity, no running water, Burkinabe, Christina.
I think that for most of us, such is our understanding of that part of the world. And yes, all those things are true. Christina was living almost literally in the middle of nowhere. She was living with the bare minimum, in a place where no one spoke English, where most people can’t read or write, where she was the only white face for miles. Throw your Western sensibilities out the window. It’s different.
But she’s managed to do it, right? And she’s staying in Western Africa for at least another year.
Why?
How?
Granted, she’s a wonderful person who is resilient, headstrong and determined, but how could someone live in a place that to most of us is so completely foreign and terrifying?
Everyone wonders is she in danger? Africa is place full of guerilla war, militaristic dictatorships, wild animals and savages. Turn on the news, and you’ll hear about widespread AIDS, violent protests, vicious tribalism, and female circumcision. In movies we see blood diamonds, genocide, and 2000 pound crocodiles. Right?
Well yeah, Africa has that stuff. But that’s the thing, Africa is not a monolith, or a one-headed beast. Africa is a continent comprised of 53 different countries, and countless more distinct cultures and traditions*. But you don’t hear the good things. You hear about the war, the famine, the disease, and justifiably, it freaks you out.
But that’s the thing.
My first time in Burkina Faso, I was sitting in a gorgeous outdoor garden in Ouagadougou, watching a live band play, eating and drinking with friends from Ghana, Burkina, and America. I was there with my Reporting Africa class, covering a bi-annual pan-African film festival in Ouaga. At that point, I had seen a lot of movies, toured around the city, and spent rare quality time with my sister. I couldn’t have been happier. So I called home.
I had figured something out at that point, that few Westerns have the good fortune to ever realize—our way of life here in America is just one of many. So, I assured my parents that living in Africa doesn’t require you to give up everything you have and know. It is different, absolutely, but that’s what ends up being so wonderful about it. Because in my experience, different doesn’t usually mean worse, but whether we are willing to admit it or not, I think that too many people assume that it does.
From early on, we are told that America is the greatest country in the world. We have freedom, we have a working government—we’re civilized, privileged, better. But how do you quantify good and bad? I don’t think you can or should, but we tend to act like the world is a binary place. Africa is poor. America is wealthy. Africa is wild. America is cultured. Africa is backwards. America is a template that all other countries should try to emulate.
I disagree. The reason that I was so happy during my time abroad was that Africa is different. There is something delightful about becoming African, so to speak. Things that seem like such a big deal here suddenly become less important. You slow down, and buy what you eat that day. You meet everyone. And though it may seem like a different world on the surface, there is so much that you aren’t seeing.
So, my point is that yes, she’s safe. Safer than you could probably imagine. And how is Christina able to spend so much time away from home? I think she’s of the attitude that anywhere is home if you have the capacity to love it. She’s made Burkina Faso and Togo her homes. For me, Ghana feels like home. I have friends there that I’ll know for a lifetime. The sights, the smells, the noises are all comforting and inviting to me. The people, though culturally and economically different from us, are essentially the same. The things I do with my friends in New York are more-or-less what I do with my friends in Ghana. We play music. We watch movies. We talk about girls and wingman for each other. We stay up an extra hour at 3 am after a long night of drinking, because at 4 we can get something to eat.
So you find your niche. I was surprised, studying at the University of Ghana to find that I liked the students in my drumming class more than those in my journalism class. What I’m hoping to convey is that I shouldn’t have been surprised. I can’t stand most of the journalism kids at NYU**, but I’ve always hung out with musicians. That’s what everyone in America should understand—that from afar, you’re rarely seeing the whole picture.
Think about it. Right now, you have many different perceptions of the African continent. Where did you get them from? Chances are, you can’t say specifically. The news, I guess. Movies, yeah. Africa might come up in a conversation. Christina’s blog, hopefully. For me that’s problematic. I was surprised that I liked the musicians more, because I hadn’t imagined that I could relate to Ghanaians the way I do to Americans. And why would I? Our perception of that part of the world is shaped pretty much entirely by things that we think we know, because nobody tells us otherwise.
But people are people, and people are what make places what they are. Christina is surrounded by wonderful people, and not just the other Peace Corps volunteers, or the Burkinabe who she worked directly with, but the vendors, the mothers, the children, whoever. We owe it to them to stop and reconsider what we know. And while it’s alarming to find out how much of what we know is wrong, it’s also a gift.
The happiest I’ve been in three and a half years of college was a period of five months in Ghana. That isn’t to say that I haven’t been happy in college, but I was really happy in Ghana. Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I’ll go back, hopefully many times over the course of my life, because I now understand the value of having a few homes. There is a lot standing in the way of the continent that I love so much, and it is up to us—those who are lucky enough to be exposed to the other side—to make sure that Africa is not forgotten. Because though we do not see the repercussions of centuries of rampant and violent imperialism day to day, those repercussions are vast. And the people that face them are not savages who don’t understand how to integrate into the civilized Western world. They are people. People who have gone to great lengths to take care of Christina and me. They are family, they are friends, they are you and me.
*Think of it this way. When referring to France, you say France. If you’re talking about anniversary of the Berlin wall falling, it’s in Germany. But how many times have you said something like “My friend/relative/coworker Christina is in Africa right now,” or “I donate money every month to children in Africa.” She’s in Burkina Faso or Togo, and those kids could be anywhere. It may seem like I’m splitting hairs, but that kind of language homogenizes Africans, making it easier for policy makers to distort our understanding of Africa, while robbing individual cultures of their identities. (I realize that throughout this post, I will repeatedly say “Africa” instead of naming a specific country. In those instances, I am either deliberately referring to Africa as a whole, or to “Africa” as we perceive it)
**I didn’t hate or even dislike the people in my journalism class in Ghana. I liked them a lot actually. But I found that I related to the musicians, dancers and actors more. The journalism folks were kind of nerdy.
I’ve been meaning to write an entry in my sister’s blog for months now, but as things go, it took me a while to finally buckle down and do it. But I’m glad I did.
I had the fortune of visiting Belehede with two of my friends during my five-month stay in Ghana. It was a weird feeling going to a place that I had been hearing about for nearly two years at that point. Before that, Belehede was kind of an abstraction to me—in the middle of nowhere, no electricity, no running water, Burkinabe, Christina.
I think that for most of us, such is our understanding of that part of the world. And yes, all those things are true. Christina was living almost literally in the middle of nowhere. She was living with the bare minimum, in a place where no one spoke English, where most people can’t read or write, where she was the only white face for miles. Throw your Western sensibilities out the window. It’s different.
But she’s managed to do it, right? And she’s staying in Western Africa for at least another year.
Why?
How?
Granted, she’s a wonderful person who is resilient, headstrong and determined, but how could someone live in a place that to most of us is so completely foreign and terrifying?
Everyone wonders is she in danger? Africa is place full of guerilla war, militaristic dictatorships, wild animals and savages. Turn on the news, and you’ll hear about widespread AIDS, violent protests, vicious tribalism, and female circumcision. In movies we see blood diamonds, genocide, and 2000 pound crocodiles. Right?
Well yeah, Africa has that stuff. But that’s the thing, Africa is not a monolith, or a one-headed beast. Africa is a continent comprised of 53 different countries, and countless more distinct cultures and traditions*. But you don’t hear the good things. You hear about the war, the famine, the disease, and justifiably, it freaks you out.
But that’s the thing.
My first time in Burkina Faso, I was sitting in a gorgeous outdoor garden in Ouagadougou, watching a live band play, eating and drinking with friends from Ghana, Burkina, and America. I was there with my Reporting Africa class, covering a bi-annual pan-African film festival in Ouaga. At that point, I had seen a lot of movies, toured around the city, and spent rare quality time with my sister. I couldn’t have been happier. So I called home.
I had figured something out at that point, that few Westerns have the good fortune to ever realize—our way of life here in America is just one of many. So, I assured my parents that living in Africa doesn’t require you to give up everything you have and know. It is different, absolutely, but that’s what ends up being so wonderful about it. Because in my experience, different doesn’t usually mean worse, but whether we are willing to admit it or not, I think that too many people assume that it does.
From early on, we are told that America is the greatest country in the world. We have freedom, we have a working government—we’re civilized, privileged, better. But how do you quantify good and bad? I don’t think you can or should, but we tend to act like the world is a binary place. Africa is poor. America is wealthy. Africa is wild. America is cultured. Africa is backwards. America is a template that all other countries should try to emulate.
I disagree. The reason that I was so happy during my time abroad was that Africa is different. There is something delightful about becoming African, so to speak. Things that seem like such a big deal here suddenly become less important. You slow down, and buy what you eat that day. You meet everyone. And though it may seem like a different world on the surface, there is so much that you aren’t seeing.
So, my point is that yes, she’s safe. Safer than you could probably imagine. And how is Christina able to spend so much time away from home? I think she’s of the attitude that anywhere is home if you have the capacity to love it. She’s made Burkina Faso and Togo her homes. For me, Ghana feels like home. I have friends there that I’ll know for a lifetime. The sights, the smells, the noises are all comforting and inviting to me. The people, though culturally and economically different from us, are essentially the same. The things I do with my friends in New York are more-or-less what I do with my friends in Ghana. We play music. We watch movies. We talk about girls and wingman for each other. We stay up an extra hour at 3 am after a long night of drinking, because at 4 we can get something to eat.
So you find your niche. I was surprised, studying at the University of Ghana to find that I liked the students in my drumming class more than those in my journalism class. What I’m hoping to convey is that I shouldn’t have been surprised. I can’t stand most of the journalism kids at NYU**, but I’ve always hung out with musicians. That’s what everyone in America should understand—that from afar, you’re rarely seeing the whole picture.
Think about it. Right now, you have many different perceptions of the African continent. Where did you get them from? Chances are, you can’t say specifically. The news, I guess. Movies, yeah. Africa might come up in a conversation. Christina’s blog, hopefully. For me that’s problematic. I was surprised that I liked the musicians more, because I hadn’t imagined that I could relate to Ghanaians the way I do to Americans. And why would I? Our perception of that part of the world is shaped pretty much entirely by things that we think we know, because nobody tells us otherwise.
But people are people, and people are what make places what they are. Christina is surrounded by wonderful people, and not just the other Peace Corps volunteers, or the Burkinabe who she worked directly with, but the vendors, the mothers, the children, whoever. We owe it to them to stop and reconsider what we know. And while it’s alarming to find out how much of what we know is wrong, it’s also a gift.
The happiest I’ve been in three and a half years of college was a period of five months in Ghana. That isn’t to say that I haven’t been happy in college, but I was really happy in Ghana. Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I’ll go back, hopefully many times over the course of my life, because I now understand the value of having a few homes. There is a lot standing in the way of the continent that I love so much, and it is up to us—those who are lucky enough to be exposed to the other side—to make sure that Africa is not forgotten. Because though we do not see the repercussions of centuries of rampant and violent imperialism day to day, those repercussions are vast. And the people that face them are not savages who don’t understand how to integrate into the civilized Western world. They are people. People who have gone to great lengths to take care of Christina and me. They are family, they are friends, they are you and me.
*Think of it this way. When referring to France, you say France. If you’re talking about anniversary of the Berlin wall falling, it’s in Germany. But how many times have you said something like “My friend/relative/coworker Christina is in Africa right now,” or “I donate money every month to children in Africa.” She’s in Burkina Faso or Togo, and those kids could be anywhere. It may seem like I’m splitting hairs, but that kind of language homogenizes Africans, making it easier for policy makers to distort our understanding of Africa, while robbing individual cultures of their identities. (I realize that throughout this post, I will repeatedly say “Africa” instead of naming a specific country. In those instances, I am either deliberately referring to Africa as a whole, or to “Africa” as we perceive it)
**I didn’t hate or even dislike the people in my journalism class in Ghana. I liked them a lot actually. But I found that I related to the musicians, dancers and actors more. The journalism folks were kind of nerdy.
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