Another Universe

Monday morning, I woke up early and was met with the good news that Ato (the JHR Country Representative) was going to pick me up on the way to the Legon campus of the University of Ghana.

We were off for the first official attendance at Radio Univers, 105.7 FM (note that CHRY, York’s station where I got into radio, is 105.5FM). After five months in fairly empty area of Tamale at the privately owned and operated Radio Justice, I now find myself in Accra on the University of Ghana at a radio station dependent upon student volunteers.

In the car was Ato’s girlfriend and he was quite energetic (even more than his constantly in a rush personality, so quick that his words have an audible difficulty in keeping up with him). After dropping her off, amidst a discussion of the birthday party that Joy FM is organizing for him for this Friday, and listening to the frequent birthday wishes being sent over the airwaves to him, we arrived.

Our contact was Elvis, the News Editor. When we arrived, he was not there and was attending to arrangements for his uncle’s funeral. A man named Rashid, the Program Director, introduced me to the News Department, which sat outside under a tent, but he didn’t know who I really was or what I am actually there to do. I stepped in and attempted to explain to the group, but only about three of the twelve of them seemed to be paying attention.

With that, we made plans to begin at 8am the next day. I headed back to Sakumono, uncertain about the beginnings of this new placement (though I still felt good about it). I was also excited the upcoming roll that I was asked to fill in assisting with the orientation of the new JHR placees arriving next week, and my assignment to escort the two that would be working in Tamale to their new home for the next eight months (God willing).

That afternoon, I slept which made sleeping later that night difficult. My mind was scrolling through so much, leaving me with less than five hours of sleep.

On Monday morning, I got up and took the tro tro to work. Though I left about 20 minutes later than I wanted to, I got to work on time. Arriving at the station, Elvis was not there again. I sat in the station lobby, watching Liverpool beat Bolton 3-0 in the English Premeirship match on TV, as I made small talk with the station volunteers that passed in and out of the lobby.

Eventually, Elvis arrived and we discussed what I was actually at the station to do. From there, we determined to develop a plan of action of stories and workshops that I would be spearheading. I continued to meet new people and was brought to the main office for the station which is across the street from the building that the station broadcasts out of. Once our plan was as complete as it be at that point, I headed out for lunch.

I ate one and a half pizza’s (there was a two-for-one special) and drank an aloe juice and a fresh coconut.

I then headed around the corner to the Nyaho Medical Clinic to look at my toe. That was a waste of time and money, as the doctor really didn’t know what she was talking about. I was clear with the staff at the front desk that I did not want a consultation, but needed treatment for an ingrown toe nail. Instead, I was given a prescription for painkillers (though I’m not in much pain, unless something bangs my toe), anti-biotics, a booster for my tetnis vaccine (though I wasn’t cut by anything), an x-ray for a toe that they can do nothing for (though the doctor told me that would put my toe in a cast), and a blood test. The doctor then conceded that she did not know how to treat an ingrown toenail. The only thing that was useful was a slip that enabled me to make an appointment with the general surgeon, who I needed to see in the first place.

I then headed back to work, and was given a lengthy walking tour of the entire campus. The grounds are enchanting, even in the dust of the hamatan; there are tropical flowers, trees as tall as buildings, colonial architecture, and hill top views of the city of Accra.

I had ‘De Je Vu’ twice that day with station volunteers that I had just met, giving me a strong sense that I had reached a place that I was destined to reach.

After that long walk (and a pulsing toe), I relaxed in the main office, which serves as a library and workspace. I was there for the air-conditioning and the company. I sat and talked with a few staff members and had them laughing at many of the stories I have collected over the past 6 months.

One of those sitting at the table, Priscilla asked me a question that had me pause to register what she asked. Earlier, she had impressed me with how she carries herself, and she had been the person that I had got the most opportunities to speak with in that busy environment. Switching the subject from my progress with Ghanaian languages, she asked a something that she seemed to need to get out there, “Do you hate Blacks?”. I just looked at her. Simply saying “No” to such a question seemed inefficient, ineffective and inappropriate. I just looked at her at first, and I told her “No” which blended into my follow-up question posed to her of “why I would be in Ghana if that were the case?”. Without hesitation or much emotion she replied, “maybe you have to be here to do your work”. She added, “a lot of you Whites hate us. They have groups that hate us”, she then added with a laugh and some demonstrative gestures, “they call us Black monkeys”. I conceded that what she was saying was true in some cases, but explained that was not the case with everyone and it was not the case with me.

Just that easily, the conversation returned to stories and discussions about Ghana. As those with set responsibilities slowly filed out of the room, I decided that 5pm was a good time to head out.

Tamara was to be leaving the country the next day, and I wanted to see her before she headed to Toronto. I began to make my way to her Uncle’s house that was just down the street from the university. After finding my way there with a taxi driver who had lied about knowing where we were going, we sat around playing with the children, making jokes with her sister Tania, and watching CSI Miami.

Part of the way through a show which I probably would not be watching if I was in Toronto, Dr. Loco and his wife arrived to take Tamara and Tania out for dinner. Thankfully, he agreed to look at my toe. He gave me a diagnosis and invited me to come by his clinic this coming Saturday for him to do the minor operation on it that needs to be done. That was great news, and had me testify, once again, that ‘God is good’.

The day finished with this new placement before me and the remaining two months of this placement passing rapidly, like the final quarter of the sand in an hour glass.