OUR FIRST STORY AT JUSTICE
So the first story that we have begun work on is about HIV/AIDS. Initially, we wanted to explore the stigma associated with virus and those affected by it. What we found in the process was that there was another story to explore before we could get to the stigma, and that is the secrets surrounding infection.
Apparently, 1 in 9 Ghanaians are HIV positive (though I do not have a source for this information yet). In our research, we have not come across very many people who have the virus. Even the medical workers that we interviewed have not come across many people with the virus.
What has been suggested is that this is due to the sting of the stigma, which, in the recent past, and still in many cases has caused families to disown infected family members. In one interview, a woman told the story of her sister who was abandoned by her father because he thought that she had AIDS. She died without his support, but it was not of AIDS. She was actually brought to Tamale from Mali where she was living by a neighbour, as her family up there would have nothing to do with her.
Another interview that we did revealed a medical worker who has a close friend that he says is HIV positive. He also told us that her husband died of AIDS recently. What was striking about the story is that no one around them knows of the status of her or of her deceased husband. Being that he worked in the south of the country, the local community did not see him deteriorate. She has not told them of her condition due to fear of rejection.
One medical worker who did a lot of workshops in village communities said that a great majority did not take advantage of free testing that was brought to their doorstep. Her suggestion is that people would rather not know.
So, what began as a story about the stigma, is evolving into a series about the effect of the stigma in causing such deep secrecy and the dangerous effects of the silence on those infected and those not infected.
I will add updates on our progress.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
"HOW'S WORK?"
Today I am at Justice FM, preparing to go to Accra for about a week. The purpose of this trip is to get some tests done to see what the issue with my abdomen is. While there, I will also be doing some interviews, researching some human rights contacts, and I plan to get my digital camera fixed. In addition to this I will visit some friends, check out what Denis and Jessica are doing at their respective placements and I will attend Action Faith Christian Ministries (which is a mega-church in Accra).
Up in Tamale, things are going slowly. Making progress has been difficult as I am not here to complete things on my own, I am here to partner with Justice staff to build infrastructure. I was speaking with a friend yesterday and I attempted to answer the question: “how is work going?”, and I realized that there is a lot to say about this.
Before I say anything, I have to tell you all that I am loving the experience up here and the station staff have made me to feel so comfortable. They help me with anything that I express a need for, have given me a comfortable office, and tea and bread every morning is a nice treat. There are a number of obstacles that I have come up, but I just deal with them and they have really not bothered me. It is not something I thought about too much until, as I said, I attempted to tell my friend ‘how work is going’.
Firstly, I have not gotten any stories completed yet. When I finally sat down with Ramadan (the main reporter that I will be working with), and we made a plan to begin a few stories, he got malaria. He has come in to fulfill basic duties eventhough he is not feeling well, but when ever I see him, he looks really run down. I could go out and complete the stories on my own, but that would defeat the point.
Recently, I also started to work on a project with the marketing department. The project began as I sat in the on-air studio watching one of the afternoon presenters do their show. One the presenter duties is to do what are called “Live Presenter Mentions” (LPM’s). LPM’s are advertisements on had-written and/or typed scripts that are read live on-air. The current system is a folder full of LPM’s that are often selected at random and read. Clients pay for these ads to be read on-air; some are getting read more than the times they have paid for and some are not getting read at all. While there is a bit of communication between the presenters and the marketing department about what should be read on their shows, that communication is inconsistent for many reasons (sometimes people aren’t around, or they’re busy, or they don’t ask ,etc.).
The system that I suggested is an excel sheet that has the show time, show name, numerous spaces for the titles of the LPM’s to be read during that slot, and space to sign and date when an LPM is read.
This system replaces the ‘go into the folder and read what ever you decide to read system’ and gives a schedule and accountability. This is important for the progression of the station and directly affects the human rights and news reporting here. Recently, while doing an interview on the topic of HIV/AIDS, we were down the street at a local maternity clinic. When we mentioned that we were from Justice FM, the women that ran the clinic began to complain that their LPM’s were not being read. They came to us with the receipt for their ads and expressed that they had not heard mention of the services they were relying on the station to promote on-air at all. That was my personal experience, however, I am aware that there are many businesses with similar complaints. The proposed system would eliminate such occurrences, and would also provide clients with documentation that they can come to the station and check.
Ibrahim, the marketing officer, met with me and we worked on completing this system. While I followed up with him to have it implemented, I was surprised to find that he was no longer working at the station. I am not sure of the circumstances surrounding his resignation, but from the rumblings that I heard in advance, it is not an ideal situation.
So we await the hiring of another marketing officer, and in the meantime, Wisdom is fulfilling Ibrahim’s former duties. I have met with Wisdom about the system, and he seems to be on board.
And technical difficulties…we have our share of those. While I have running water at home, we don’t have running water at the station. Apparently, the water shut off of here about a year and a half. It has not come back on yet. In 2008, Ghana (and the new stadium that they are building) will be hosting the African Cup. This date seems to be the projected timeline for fixing everything in Tamale. Speaking with an employee of the company that is installing the pipelines and tap water infrastructure confirmed this. Even the paved roads that go through the core of Tamale have been attributed to upcoming tournament. So, I have an office with a TV, a computer and air conditioning, and have to go across town to use a toilet. Far more concerning is the hundreds or thousands of people that live in this area who are:
1) Using water in their locality that is not safe
2) Traveling across town to collect water for daily use
3) Going without when ever possible (at the cost of important hygienic care)
While we have the amenities of computer, television and air conditioning, every once in awhile, the municipality just shuts off the power. That means the computers are shut down without warning and the transmission from station comes to a cease until the power is turned back on. There was one time that I was in a taxi and the driver wanted to hear our news broadcast. He turned the dial to 98.5 FM and found that it was just static as the power was off.
We also have a driver whose name is Soldier. Apparently, he really is a solider for a traditional army. When we drive down the dstreet (which is rare, people always call out ‘Sol-jah!’). For the past few days the car has been working, but from the first day I got to Tamale, there has been problems. Upon arriving at the Tamale airport, I waited for close to two hours before Ramadan and I decided to take a taxi to the station realizing that the car was not coming. Since then, there is almost always something wrong with the car. Flat tire, dead battery, empty tank, mystery problem…battery died, again, another tire is flat...Being that station employees don’t get paid tremendously well, there is an unwillingness toward taking a taxi (even if I offer to pay) in order to complete stories, so the reliability of the car is affecting the morale in terms of doing stories.
And my computer…everyday it is something with my computer. There seems to be a few people who come in and use it for all kinds of things. Some people use it to burn CDS, or exchange software, or to surf the net. One employee had a child in here with him trying to download some sort of internet TV station as the child was bored of the only two stations that they have up here. The result is that the computer has been full of viruses. Everyday it is something else. One day, the internet connection is not on (that happens all the time!). Another day, the computer is just shutting off. Week by week there is always new software on the computer. The programs that were just added after reformatting the computer are outdated and do not allow you to use much of the internet. Loading time per page is about 5 minutes at this point. I am not sure how this will get posted or when at this point.
People have suggested that I lock the office, but I found out that there is no point in locking the door. For one, other people who use (and abuse) the computer have keys. More amusing is the fact that there is a sliding door beside the main door that has broken locks on it. If the door is locked, people walk through the sliding door. What confounded me about this is that I used to lock the door at the insistence of station management, who would ask me, “Chris, did you lock your door?”. When I found out (after a couple of weeks) that the sliding door can not be locked, I really wondered why they were so persistent on that matter.
On a positive note, it seems that the issue of employees not getting paid is an issue of the past due to a contract secured by the General Manager that will bring more funds into the station.
While writing this, Ramadan came in to my office to inform me that a close friend of his and fellow reporter at the local station FILA FM, passed-away last night from malaria. It is quite a sad time here as a result. This is actually the second death in the past week, as the technician for Savanah FM that installed our control room at Justice also passed away unexpectedly. I spent some time this morning speaking with Ramadan, who is quite shaken up about this. His friend, Greg, actually asked to see him yesterday, but Ramadan was not feeling well enough to visit him. That has him feeling guilty. He remarked to me, with a sullen look in his eyes that, “life is strange”, adding that, “I don’t like it”. I shared a poem with him that I wrote recently for someone else who passed back in Canada last year. It was helpful, but he is also just going to need some time.
I will be in Accra for about a week (and I am looking forward to meeting up with Denis, Jessica and Ato of JHR, as well as Anita, Emmanuel, the Ackerson family, Nana aka Chedda, and TJ). I will do my best to be back here Friday, as Ramadan would like me to attend the wake and the funeral for his friend. What is life? Use these moments as the treasures that they are.
Today I am at Justice FM, preparing to go to Accra for about a week. The purpose of this trip is to get some tests done to see what the issue with my abdomen is. While there, I will also be doing some interviews, researching some human rights contacts, and I plan to get my digital camera fixed. In addition to this I will visit some friends, check out what Denis and Jessica are doing at their respective placements and I will attend Action Faith Christian Ministries (which is a mega-church in Accra).
Up in Tamale, things are going slowly. Making progress has been difficult as I am not here to complete things on my own, I am here to partner with Justice staff to build infrastructure. I was speaking with a friend yesterday and I attempted to answer the question: “how is work going?”, and I realized that there is a lot to say about this.
Before I say anything, I have to tell you all that I am loving the experience up here and the station staff have made me to feel so comfortable. They help me with anything that I express a need for, have given me a comfortable office, and tea and bread every morning is a nice treat. There are a number of obstacles that I have come up, but I just deal with them and they have really not bothered me. It is not something I thought about too much until, as I said, I attempted to tell my friend ‘how work is going’.
Firstly, I have not gotten any stories completed yet. When I finally sat down with Ramadan (the main reporter that I will be working with), and we made a plan to begin a few stories, he got malaria. He has come in to fulfill basic duties eventhough he is not feeling well, but when ever I see him, he looks really run down. I could go out and complete the stories on my own, but that would defeat the point.
Recently, I also started to work on a project with the marketing department. The project began as I sat in the on-air studio watching one of the afternoon presenters do their show. One the presenter duties is to do what are called “Live Presenter Mentions” (LPM’s). LPM’s are advertisements on had-written and/or typed scripts that are read live on-air. The current system is a folder full of LPM’s that are often selected at random and read. Clients pay for these ads to be read on-air; some are getting read more than the times they have paid for and some are not getting read at all. While there is a bit of communication between the presenters and the marketing department about what should be read on their shows, that communication is inconsistent for many reasons (sometimes people aren’t around, or they’re busy, or they don’t ask ,etc.).
The system that I suggested is an excel sheet that has the show time, show name, numerous spaces for the titles of the LPM’s to be read during that slot, and space to sign and date when an LPM is read.
This system replaces the ‘go into the folder and read what ever you decide to read system’ and gives a schedule and accountability. This is important for the progression of the station and directly affects the human rights and news reporting here. Recently, while doing an interview on the topic of HIV/AIDS, we were down the street at a local maternity clinic. When we mentioned that we were from Justice FM, the women that ran the clinic began to complain that their LPM’s were not being read. They came to us with the receipt for their ads and expressed that they had not heard mention of the services they were relying on the station to promote on-air at all. That was my personal experience, however, I am aware that there are many businesses with similar complaints. The proposed system would eliminate such occurrences, and would also provide clients with documentation that they can come to the station and check.
Ibrahim, the marketing officer, met with me and we worked on completing this system. While I followed up with him to have it implemented, I was surprised to find that he was no longer working at the station. I am not sure of the circumstances surrounding his resignation, but from the rumblings that I heard in advance, it is not an ideal situation.
So we await the hiring of another marketing officer, and in the meantime, Wisdom is fulfilling Ibrahim’s former duties. I have met with Wisdom about the system, and he seems to be on board.
And technical difficulties…we have our share of those. While I have running water at home, we don’t have running water at the station. Apparently, the water shut off of here about a year and a half. It has not come back on yet. In 2008, Ghana (and the new stadium that they are building) will be hosting the African Cup. This date seems to be the projected timeline for fixing everything in Tamale. Speaking with an employee of the company that is installing the pipelines and tap water infrastructure confirmed this. Even the paved roads that go through the core of Tamale have been attributed to upcoming tournament. So, I have an office with a TV, a computer and air conditioning, and have to go across town to use a toilet. Far more concerning is the hundreds or thousands of people that live in this area who are:
1) Using water in their locality that is not safe
2) Traveling across town to collect water for daily use
3) Going without when ever possible (at the cost of important hygienic care)
While we have the amenities of computer, television and air conditioning, every once in awhile, the municipality just shuts off the power. That means the computers are shut down without warning and the transmission from station comes to a cease until the power is turned back on. There was one time that I was in a taxi and the driver wanted to hear our news broadcast. He turned the dial to 98.5 FM and found that it was just static as the power was off.
We also have a driver whose name is Soldier. Apparently, he really is a solider for a traditional army. When we drive down the dstreet (which is rare, people always call out ‘Sol-jah!’). For the past few days the car has been working, but from the first day I got to Tamale, there has been problems. Upon arriving at the Tamale airport, I waited for close to two hours before Ramadan and I decided to take a taxi to the station realizing that the car was not coming. Since then, there is almost always something wrong with the car. Flat tire, dead battery, empty tank, mystery problem…battery died, again, another tire is flat...Being that station employees don’t get paid tremendously well, there is an unwillingness toward taking a taxi (even if I offer to pay) in order to complete stories, so the reliability of the car is affecting the morale in terms of doing stories.
And my computer…everyday it is something with my computer. There seems to be a few people who come in and use it for all kinds of things. Some people use it to burn CDS, or exchange software, or to surf the net. One employee had a child in here with him trying to download some sort of internet TV station as the child was bored of the only two stations that they have up here. The result is that the computer has been full of viruses. Everyday it is something else. One day, the internet connection is not on (that happens all the time!). Another day, the computer is just shutting off. Week by week there is always new software on the computer. The programs that were just added after reformatting the computer are outdated and do not allow you to use much of the internet. Loading time per page is about 5 minutes at this point. I am not sure how this will get posted or when at this point.
People have suggested that I lock the office, but I found out that there is no point in locking the door. For one, other people who use (and abuse) the computer have keys. More amusing is the fact that there is a sliding door beside the main door that has broken locks on it. If the door is locked, people walk through the sliding door. What confounded me about this is that I used to lock the door at the insistence of station management, who would ask me, “Chris, did you lock your door?”. When I found out (after a couple of weeks) that the sliding door can not be locked, I really wondered why they were so persistent on that matter.
On a positive note, it seems that the issue of employees not getting paid is an issue of the past due to a contract secured by the General Manager that will bring more funds into the station.
While writing this, Ramadan came in to my office to inform me that a close friend of his and fellow reporter at the local station FILA FM, passed-away last night from malaria. It is quite a sad time here as a result. This is actually the second death in the past week, as the technician for Savanah FM that installed our control room at Justice also passed away unexpectedly. I spent some time this morning speaking with Ramadan, who is quite shaken up about this. His friend, Greg, actually asked to see him yesterday, but Ramadan was not feeling well enough to visit him. That has him feeling guilty. He remarked to me, with a sullen look in his eyes that, “life is strange”, adding that, “I don’t like it”. I shared a poem with him that I wrote recently for someone else who passed back in Canada last year. It was helpful, but he is also just going to need some time.
I will be in Accra for about a week (and I am looking forward to meeting up with Denis, Jessica and Ato of JHR, as well as Anita, Emmanuel, the Ackerson family, Nana aka Chedda, and TJ). I will do my best to be back here Friday, as Ramadan would like me to attend the wake and the funeral for his friend. What is life? Use these moments as the treasures that they are.
Patience Is A Virtue
Yesterday morning I spoke to the technician, Ossei, about finding a store that would sell a USB cord that could connect my friends digital camera to the computer (as my camera is still not fixed yet, and I really want to share some photos). He said that he did know a store that we could go to and that he would bring me.
So we headed out on his motorbike towards the town. On our way we took a little detour and stopped in front of a makeshift restaurant, with a middle-aged woman steering a big cauldron of steaming steam. After a brief exchange between Ossei and her which was laced with the word “Abruni” (a term meaning White man and used to address foreigners). I quickly realized that there was no USB cords in this place. Ossei had not had breakfast and was going to have some fufu for lunch. I took a seat on a bench and waited for him to finish eating. I was invited to share, but opted to wait until later for my own lunch. As I sat there, juts relaxing and enjoying the moment in this dingy, shaded fufu spot I wondered whether people thought that I was being rude. Two women sat near me and let me know of their bowl of fufu that “you are invited”. I declined, but was grateful.
Thankfully, Ossei does not eat as slowly as I do, and before too long, we were on our way. I got back on the motorbike and we headed into town. Upon arriving into the city’s core, I recognized the building that we pulled up to. It was Diamond FM, where Janey (a fellow JHR placee) works. We drove through an alley-way, around to the back where the entrance is. We parked and I followed Ossei up the stairs and through an open hallway to a door that said “No Access”, which he walked into without even knocking. With a slight thought of hesitation, I followed. In the room was all of the transmitting equiptment for Diamond FM, a man on a computer, and a few people watching Die Hard II. Ossei, began to speak with the elder man on the computer about some programs and technical jargon, as I was invited to take a seat and watch the movie. I realized that we were not getting a USB cord here either.
A lot of the movies here are action movies (you can walk down the street and pick up every film that Steven Segal or Jean-Claude Van Damme are in). Comedies and dramas are much more rare, as I figure violence translates much easier than dialogue. Given the recent London/US terror fears and the déjà vu of President Bush’s actions with Iran (nearly identical to the approach that led to the invasion of Iraq, the theme of blowing up airplanes and taking over airports had a different light than it did when I watched the movie as a child in the early 90’s. I also have to admit that seeing Bruce Willis shoot up the Russian bad guys had me a little bit wrapped up in the movie.
As the movie came to an end, Ossei, looked over at me and said “three minutes”. Ten minutes later, I left the broadcast of CNN to take a phone call from Toronto. I was glad to hear from Sharifa who updated me about wrapping up her summer job at Tennis Canada, getting ready for school, and awaiting the General Meeting being held tonight at Rhema, which in the words of my bro GC, seems like it will be a “state of the union” address. Seeing how I have benefited so deeply on a personal and professional level from travel I find myself urging people to “get up, get out and get something”: I also tried to urge Sharifa to go somewhere before she heads back to school in Guelph, though I don’t know if my urging worked.
About twenty minutes into our conversation, Ossei urged me to follow him, and I continued the phone call on the back of the motorbike.
To my surprise, the next destination was an electronics store where we checked for the USB cord that we needed. Not to my surprise they didn’t have it. Nor did they have cd cleaner. We proceeded to another five stores or so, and none of them had what we needed. Knowing that the purchase, if we could find the materials, would cost more than I had in my pocket, we headed to the bank. Of the two ATM machines in the city, one of them has been out of service for the past week. This left only Barclay’s which has a daily limit of $50 Canadian (400,000 cds). Upon arriving there, I waited in the line of about four. All was going well, until the person before found that the ATM was out of money. Needing to make a withdrawl and still feeling the ethos of (‘a man does not take a major step forward and retreat’), we went into the bank and spoke to a manager. He insisted that there was money in the machine. We went out, and three people (including me) tried their cards to no avail. Satisfied that our complaint was valid, we followed the manager back into the bank and took a seat while he and some co-workers went to see about the problem. A good twenty minutes later, he informed us that there was now money in the machine. After wading through a short line, I got some money and left. Our further efforts at getting the USB cord were unsuccessful.
During our journey, we were also running out of gas and stalled twice. Upon reaching the nearest gas station, we found that there was no fuel. The same was true at the next station. It was not until the third station that we were able to refuel.
While I did not find the USB cord, the cd cleaner, or blank cds at a reasonable price, I did decide to purchase a ticket to Accra, which will have me heading to the coast on Friday morning. Unlike the last tike at the STC Bus station, this went off without a hitch!
Through it all, I did not get frustrated, impatient, aggravated. I just enjoyed the day, smiled at the “as if” series of events, and was happy to have seen the growth in me.
I want to add a little background information to the story. On the way home from work, a man sitting beside me had a book and a newspaper in his hands. I asked him if I could take a look at the book. He handed me his copy of “The Power of Positive Thinking”. As I skimmed it, I found a lot of ideas about how to avoid anger and frustration. One topic that stood out to me was about worry. My mother will tell you that I am always encouraging people not to worry about things. In my insistence, I would always question how ‘worrying’ helped the situation – it never does. While it is easier said than done, it is better done than said. In the book, I came across a statement that made me smile in my heart: “I don’t worry because I have decided that I don’t believe in worrying”. Like Santa Claus or whether or not wrestling is real, we know that they are illusions. It just seemed so clear: God is all knowing and is not worried, so why should we be worried. Immediately, I shared what I had read with Lieta as I handed the book back to the man as he left the taxi. Lieta responded that everyone worries. She then asked me, “don’t you ever worry?” I told that I do…that I did earlier that very day. I added, though, that I did not want to and did not see how it ever helps. Caring and doing something about an issue, and even being aware, did not require you to worry. That conversation was the day before, and I went through the day with an amusing amount of obstacles to a fairly simple task, and I just enjoyed the day. Nothing stole my joy.
That was my lesson on patience.
After work, I went to meet up with Janey. We were going to have a drink (a Guinness) after work. The place that she brought me to was an amazing discovery. There is a restaurant on the roof of the highest building (5 stories) in the city. You can see so much from there. We sat up there and had some food and beverages. Watching the flow of people, cars, bicycles, motorbikes, carts, and the odd goat or chicken as the sun descended behind the overcast horizon was deeply gratifying. Janey’s friend, a woman seemingly in her 40’s from the UK was also interesting.
She told us stories of working on various private yachts over the years that brought her through the Pacific ocean, and in one trip around the globe, including a stop for a month in Antarctica. Antarctica. She described how the undiluted natural surroundings caused deep introspection in the whole crew as well as the Italian business man and actress that were leading the travels. She spoke of seeing numerous orca’s and whales, sitting in the midst of a penguin colony, and maneuvering in a smaller vessel through a gallery of massive remarkably shaped ice bergs. The conversation also touched on the sad loss of her boyfriends friend (a local man who contracted Hepatitis B). She felt a built guilty as he died a couple of weeks after she stepped in to pay for his hospital fees and treatment. She wondered whether her interference had caused his death, and also felt powerless. The practice of not allowing women to the body (including the young man’s mother) was also hard.
I shared with her a moving story connected to the recent execution of former gang member, Crip founder, and multiple Nobel Peace Prize Nominee Sam “Tookie” Williams. While he was appealing his death sentence, he met a young woman that was a reporter with an agenda to show the world the monster that this man really was. In the process, she ended up becoming one of his closest friends and assisted him in getting numerous books published which educated children to the perils of gang life, while also addressing the causes and factors leading to such life choices. In this I have to interject the degree of influence that his ‘redemption’ had. While working in Driftwood, I quickly realized that it was a crip neighborhood. Working with the young men’s club (mostly 11-13 year olds), their allegiance to the blue flag of crips around the world was strong. When Tookie was executed, all them knew. They could not tell you who Marcus Garvey is, and I was surprised when I asked them who the Prime Minister of Canada was with a prize for the answer (as part of a news quiz) and I did not get a correct answer. They knew Tookie’s story, his contributions and his message. A few months ago, Tookie was executed by the signature of Govenor Arnold Schwarzenegger. After doing some research, I came across a three hour video of his memorial service online. It was a powerful service, with many life changing lessons. Among them was the story told by the woman who began as a reporter and became Tookie’s closest friend. She spoke of the last day with him, awaiting a noon verdict of whether or not he would be executed at midnight that same day. She described how she felt when she was given word that the execution would happen. She also explained what it was like to share the news with her friend, Tookie. Not wanting those he loved to see him go through the lethal injection, which ended up being a long a tortuous ordeal for his large frame to be killed with silent chemicals injected into his veins, he had insisted that no one close to him attend as witnesses. She countered his request, saying that she would be there. He was stubborn at first, but conceded upon hearing her reason: “I don’t want the last faces that you see in this life to be the faces of those who hate you. I want the last face that you see to be the face of some one that loves you”. I told this story to the woman from the UK to let her know, that it was not her fault and to not feel powerless, but to know that this young man passed having witnessed someone who he did not even know offering her time, energy, concern and finances freely to help him.
From there I headed home to dinner and to see Nuri-Haque off. He will begin studies in computer engineering in Kumasi and will be gone from Tamale until the Christmas break. He has become a friend that I value deeply. We talk about so much, and we have impacted each other’s lives so much in a short period of time.
He came by the house late in the evening, and I walked him to the road on his way home. While I am grateful to have had him around in Tamale, I plan to visit him in Kumasi. I am very happy for him and the steps that he is taking in his education.
Before he left though, we were watching a movie. He came later on, but Mr. Fresh and I watched it from the start. It is a film called “Click” with Adam Sandler. (Just a side note, that Adam Sandler is one of my favourite actors because he uses comedy to explore some very profound and substantive subjects). I highly recommend watching “Click” and take in the relevant reminder of what really matters in life. While the movie was enjoyable, I want to add that I feel it for the Asian audience that was dependent upon the Enslish subtitles. They were consistently wrong for the whole movie! From little mistakes like turning “I love you” into “I long you”, to major misinterpretations of the movie such as explaining the plot of the movie in a completely different fashion from what was really happening. I think that I would be very confused if I followed those subtitles. The cover photo of Adam Sandler holding a gun (which has nothing to do with the actual movie) might also add to the confusion.
The two Dutch girls came back from Burkino Faso and will be heading down to Accra tomorrow. They came to Ghana a year or two ago to volunteer and have come back to travel and visit. Today, they are getting their hair braided. They are pretty nice, but Sister Saphora can’t get over their disbelief in God and keeps telling them that she is going to call me to come and talk to them.
I should share that I have been getting better rest with less stiffness in my shoulder since I moved my mattress from the bed frame (which has very little support) to a mat on the floor.
Well, I have to get to work. So, until next time…stay blessed.
Yesterday morning I spoke to the technician, Ossei, about finding a store that would sell a USB cord that could connect my friends digital camera to the computer (as my camera is still not fixed yet, and I really want to share some photos). He said that he did know a store that we could go to and that he would bring me.
So we headed out on his motorbike towards the town. On our way we took a little detour and stopped in front of a makeshift restaurant, with a middle-aged woman steering a big cauldron of steaming steam. After a brief exchange between Ossei and her which was laced with the word “Abruni” (a term meaning White man and used to address foreigners). I quickly realized that there was no USB cords in this place. Ossei had not had breakfast and was going to have some fufu for lunch. I took a seat on a bench and waited for him to finish eating. I was invited to share, but opted to wait until later for my own lunch. As I sat there, juts relaxing and enjoying the moment in this dingy, shaded fufu spot I wondered whether people thought that I was being rude. Two women sat near me and let me know of their bowl of fufu that “you are invited”. I declined, but was grateful.
Thankfully, Ossei does not eat as slowly as I do, and before too long, we were on our way. I got back on the motorbike and we headed into town. Upon arriving into the city’s core, I recognized the building that we pulled up to. It was Diamond FM, where Janey (a fellow JHR placee) works. We drove through an alley-way, around to the back where the entrance is. We parked and I followed Ossei up the stairs and through an open hallway to a door that said “No Access”, which he walked into without even knocking. With a slight thought of hesitation, I followed. In the room was all of the transmitting equiptment for Diamond FM, a man on a computer, and a few people watching Die Hard II. Ossei, began to speak with the elder man on the computer about some programs and technical jargon, as I was invited to take a seat and watch the movie. I realized that we were not getting a USB cord here either.
A lot of the movies here are action movies (you can walk down the street and pick up every film that Steven Segal or Jean-Claude Van Damme are in). Comedies and dramas are much more rare, as I figure violence translates much easier than dialogue. Given the recent London/US terror fears and the déjà vu of President Bush’s actions with Iran (nearly identical to the approach that led to the invasion of Iraq, the theme of blowing up airplanes and taking over airports had a different light than it did when I watched the movie as a child in the early 90’s. I also have to admit that seeing Bruce Willis shoot up the Russian bad guys had me a little bit wrapped up in the movie.
As the movie came to an end, Ossei, looked over at me and said “three minutes”. Ten minutes later, I left the broadcast of CNN to take a phone call from Toronto. I was glad to hear from Sharifa who updated me about wrapping up her summer job at Tennis Canada, getting ready for school, and awaiting the General Meeting being held tonight at Rhema, which in the words of my bro GC, seems like it will be a “state of the union” address. Seeing how I have benefited so deeply on a personal and professional level from travel I find myself urging people to “get up, get out and get something”: I also tried to urge Sharifa to go somewhere before she heads back to school in Guelph, though I don’t know if my urging worked.
About twenty minutes into our conversation, Ossei urged me to follow him, and I continued the phone call on the back of the motorbike.
To my surprise, the next destination was an electronics store where we checked for the USB cord that we needed. Not to my surprise they didn’t have it. Nor did they have cd cleaner. We proceeded to another five stores or so, and none of them had what we needed. Knowing that the purchase, if we could find the materials, would cost more than I had in my pocket, we headed to the bank. Of the two ATM machines in the city, one of them has been out of service for the past week. This left only Barclay’s which has a daily limit of $50 Canadian (400,000 cds). Upon arriving there, I waited in the line of about four. All was going well, until the person before found that the ATM was out of money. Needing to make a withdrawl and still feeling the ethos of (‘a man does not take a major step forward and retreat’), we went into the bank and spoke to a manager. He insisted that there was money in the machine. We went out, and three people (including me) tried their cards to no avail. Satisfied that our complaint was valid, we followed the manager back into the bank and took a seat while he and some co-workers went to see about the problem. A good twenty minutes later, he informed us that there was now money in the machine. After wading through a short line, I got some money and left. Our further efforts at getting the USB cord were unsuccessful.
During our journey, we were also running out of gas and stalled twice. Upon reaching the nearest gas station, we found that there was no fuel. The same was true at the next station. It was not until the third station that we were able to refuel.
While I did not find the USB cord, the cd cleaner, or blank cds at a reasonable price, I did decide to purchase a ticket to Accra, which will have me heading to the coast on Friday morning. Unlike the last tike at the STC Bus station, this went off without a hitch!
Through it all, I did not get frustrated, impatient, aggravated. I just enjoyed the day, smiled at the “as if” series of events, and was happy to have seen the growth in me.
I want to add a little background information to the story. On the way home from work, a man sitting beside me had a book and a newspaper in his hands. I asked him if I could take a look at the book. He handed me his copy of “The Power of Positive Thinking”. As I skimmed it, I found a lot of ideas about how to avoid anger and frustration. One topic that stood out to me was about worry. My mother will tell you that I am always encouraging people not to worry about things. In my insistence, I would always question how ‘worrying’ helped the situation – it never does. While it is easier said than done, it is better done than said. In the book, I came across a statement that made me smile in my heart: “I don’t worry because I have decided that I don’t believe in worrying”. Like Santa Claus or whether or not wrestling is real, we know that they are illusions. It just seemed so clear: God is all knowing and is not worried, so why should we be worried. Immediately, I shared what I had read with Lieta as I handed the book back to the man as he left the taxi. Lieta responded that everyone worries. She then asked me, “don’t you ever worry?” I told that I do…that I did earlier that very day. I added, though, that I did not want to and did not see how it ever helps. Caring and doing something about an issue, and even being aware, did not require you to worry. That conversation was the day before, and I went through the day with an amusing amount of obstacles to a fairly simple task, and I just enjoyed the day. Nothing stole my joy.
That was my lesson on patience.
After work, I went to meet up with Janey. We were going to have a drink (a Guinness) after work. The place that she brought me to was an amazing discovery. There is a restaurant on the roof of the highest building (5 stories) in the city. You can see so much from there. We sat up there and had some food and beverages. Watching the flow of people, cars, bicycles, motorbikes, carts, and the odd goat or chicken as the sun descended behind the overcast horizon was deeply gratifying. Janey’s friend, a woman seemingly in her 40’s from the UK was also interesting.
She told us stories of working on various private yachts over the years that brought her through the Pacific ocean, and in one trip around the globe, including a stop for a month in Antarctica. Antarctica. She described how the undiluted natural surroundings caused deep introspection in the whole crew as well as the Italian business man and actress that were leading the travels. She spoke of seeing numerous orca’s and whales, sitting in the midst of a penguin colony, and maneuvering in a smaller vessel through a gallery of massive remarkably shaped ice bergs. The conversation also touched on the sad loss of her boyfriends friend (a local man who contracted Hepatitis B). She felt a built guilty as he died a couple of weeks after she stepped in to pay for his hospital fees and treatment. She wondered whether her interference had caused his death, and also felt powerless. The practice of not allowing women to the body (including the young man’s mother) was also hard.
I shared with her a moving story connected to the recent execution of former gang member, Crip founder, and multiple Nobel Peace Prize Nominee Sam “Tookie” Williams. While he was appealing his death sentence, he met a young woman that was a reporter with an agenda to show the world the monster that this man really was. In the process, she ended up becoming one of his closest friends and assisted him in getting numerous books published which educated children to the perils of gang life, while also addressing the causes and factors leading to such life choices. In this I have to interject the degree of influence that his ‘redemption’ had. While working in Driftwood, I quickly realized that it was a crip neighborhood. Working with the young men’s club (mostly 11-13 year olds), their allegiance to the blue flag of crips around the world was strong. When Tookie was executed, all them knew. They could not tell you who Marcus Garvey is, and I was surprised when I asked them who the Prime Minister of Canada was with a prize for the answer (as part of a news quiz) and I did not get a correct answer. They knew Tookie’s story, his contributions and his message. A few months ago, Tookie was executed by the signature of Govenor Arnold Schwarzenegger. After doing some research, I came across a three hour video of his memorial service online. It was a powerful service, with many life changing lessons. Among them was the story told by the woman who began as a reporter and became Tookie’s closest friend. She spoke of the last day with him, awaiting a noon verdict of whether or not he would be executed at midnight that same day. She described how she felt when she was given word that the execution would happen. She also explained what it was like to share the news with her friend, Tookie. Not wanting those he loved to see him go through the lethal injection, which ended up being a long a tortuous ordeal for his large frame to be killed with silent chemicals injected into his veins, he had insisted that no one close to him attend as witnesses. She countered his request, saying that she would be there. He was stubborn at first, but conceded upon hearing her reason: “I don’t want the last faces that you see in this life to be the faces of those who hate you. I want the last face that you see to be the face of some one that loves you”. I told this story to the woman from the UK to let her know, that it was not her fault and to not feel powerless, but to know that this young man passed having witnessed someone who he did not even know offering her time, energy, concern and finances freely to help him.
From there I headed home to dinner and to see Nuri-Haque off. He will begin studies in computer engineering in Kumasi and will be gone from Tamale until the Christmas break. He has become a friend that I value deeply. We talk about so much, and we have impacted each other’s lives so much in a short period of time.
He came by the house late in the evening, and I walked him to the road on his way home. While I am grateful to have had him around in Tamale, I plan to visit him in Kumasi. I am very happy for him and the steps that he is taking in his education.
Before he left though, we were watching a movie. He came later on, but Mr. Fresh and I watched it from the start. It is a film called “Click” with Adam Sandler. (Just a side note, that Adam Sandler is one of my favourite actors because he uses comedy to explore some very profound and substantive subjects). I highly recommend watching “Click” and take in the relevant reminder of what really matters in life. While the movie was enjoyable, I want to add that I feel it for the Asian audience that was dependent upon the Enslish subtitles. They were consistently wrong for the whole movie! From little mistakes like turning “I love you” into “I long you”, to major misinterpretations of the movie such as explaining the plot of the movie in a completely different fashion from what was really happening. I think that I would be very confused if I followed those subtitles. The cover photo of Adam Sandler holding a gun (which has nothing to do with the actual movie) might also add to the confusion.
The two Dutch girls came back from Burkino Faso and will be heading down to Accra tomorrow. They came to Ghana a year or two ago to volunteer and have come back to travel and visit. Today, they are getting their hair braided. They are pretty nice, but Sister Saphora can’t get over their disbelief in God and keeps telling them that she is going to call me to come and talk to them.
I should share that I have been getting better rest with less stiffness in my shoulder since I moved my mattress from the bed frame (which has very little support) to a mat on the floor.
Well, I have to get to work. So, until next time…stay blessed.
Monday, August 21, 2006
PREFACE
As of late, I have been feeling a lot of the people that we love and that have passed on my heart. The park was opened for Blu last week. This September will be three years since Dudley passed, and one year since Letisha passed. Today in Tamale a close friend of my co-worker did not wake up this morning.
This poem came as all of this has been stirring in my heart. The factors that inspired it are many. I did not publish earlier this week, as I was still editing it and not feeling that it was the right time. Today, when Ramadan came to speak with me about his friend, I showed him the poem. I sat here listening to him queitly read it off of the screen, and the words had relevance beyond my foresight. I pray that it is relevant to you and that it is encouraging.
And so we face the question, 'What is this life?': A stream of priceless moments that come and go with the opportunity to make the most of them. We don't ever know how long each stream will flow for. Sister Saphora said something about people who do wrong to others, saying "they live like they are not going to die one day". Rather, let us live life like the treasure that it is, knowing that the love in our lives and how it touches others lasts. Maya Angelou sang a hymn, "I'm gonna let it shine / oh, this little light of mine / I'm gonna let it shine". She followed these words with a tapestry of stories carefully chosen to illustrate how profoundly far the light that we allow to shine through us reaches; further than we can imagine into people that we didn't know we have touched, and into generations that we didn't get the chance to meet.
TELL ME OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS
Tell me of beautiful things:
Like lips right before they touch.
And getting to know a kiss.
And the softest parts of your skin.
Can we speak of beauty?
This very night I looked at the stars and I saw Leo;
Not because I know what the constellation looks like,
Or because I know where to find it
– I have looked a few times every August for years –
I saw Leo because I could see a lion,
Majestic, made of stars.
And right now,
I can see the moment that I touched the ocean again.
Five years since the last time.
Not just the moment I saw it,
But the moment that I reached the shore:
Taking a front row seat in the sand,
My heels dug in,
My fingers spread wide open behind my back,
Supporting my lean, titled,
Looking up at the frothy crash of the water,
The frothy spilling of the ocean,
Late afternoon, the sun still up and warm,
All of me smiling in this treasure
That I was led into through a great many steps.
Tell me of beautiful things,
Like your dreams.
Like what keeps you going –
Tel me what it is.
Speak to me
When your crying face
Still damp, still salty
Starts to smile
Because it feels better
After some time of crying.
Bring me to the very instance,
Tell me what it was that allowed you to consider,
That 'this might be for a lifetime'.
Would you be surprised if you saw me crying
On my knees
Hands raised in praise?
Feeling God’s peace,
And crying
Because I don’t understand,
At peace because I know He does,
But crying because I don’t understand
Why she is gone from us?
Do you remember the moment
That Pastor prayed that God receive her spirit
And sunlight broke through the
Thick, thick clouds?
Let me be honest.
I was thinking about so many people's lives
And I wondered why I believe that
One day it will all make sense,
And that it will all turn to good,
And that there is always a way,
And always cause for hope,
That there is always enough,
And that it is never more than we can bear,
When so many stories
Seem to say that it is not always so.
Let me be honest.
I wondered if it is because
These things have always been true for me:
That in time things come to make sense.
And things turn to good.
And I find that there is a way.
And cause for hope.
Never more than I can bear.
With always, at least, enough.
I say it and I know that I am not alone in this -
Nowhere near alone in this.
But is it always true for everyone?
It makes no sense to me that it wouldn’t be,
But is it my place to say?
That is why I want you to tell me
Of beautiful things:
Like why you keep on trying?
And what kept you going?
And what it took to celebrate
What used to cause you pain?
Bring me to the source of the strength
That allowed you to face
What used to make you run.
I want to look at your heart
Through your eyes
And listen to your soul in your song,
Or in your whisper,
Or in your testimony –
Which is poetry
Beyond form and structure,
Because yours’ are words
That describe something true.
As of late, I have been feeling a lot of the people that we love and that have passed on my heart. The park was opened for Blu last week. This September will be three years since Dudley passed, and one year since Letisha passed. Today in Tamale a close friend of my co-worker did not wake up this morning.
This poem came as all of this has been stirring in my heart. The factors that inspired it are many. I did not publish earlier this week, as I was still editing it and not feeling that it was the right time. Today, when Ramadan came to speak with me about his friend, I showed him the poem. I sat here listening to him queitly read it off of the screen, and the words had relevance beyond my foresight. I pray that it is relevant to you and that it is encouraging.
And so we face the question, 'What is this life?': A stream of priceless moments that come and go with the opportunity to make the most of them. We don't ever know how long each stream will flow for. Sister Saphora said something about people who do wrong to others, saying "they live like they are not going to die one day". Rather, let us live life like the treasure that it is, knowing that the love in our lives and how it touches others lasts. Maya Angelou sang a hymn, "I'm gonna let it shine / oh, this little light of mine / I'm gonna let it shine". She followed these words with a tapestry of stories carefully chosen to illustrate how profoundly far the light that we allow to shine through us reaches; further than we can imagine into people that we didn't know we have touched, and into generations that we didn't get the chance to meet.
TELL ME OF BEAUTIFUL THINGS
Tell me of beautiful things:
Like lips right before they touch.
And getting to know a kiss.
And the softest parts of your skin.
Can we speak of beauty?
This very night I looked at the stars and I saw Leo;
Not because I know what the constellation looks like,
Or because I know where to find it
– I have looked a few times every August for years –
I saw Leo because I could see a lion,
Majestic, made of stars.
And right now,
I can see the moment that I touched the ocean again.
Five years since the last time.
Not just the moment I saw it,
But the moment that I reached the shore:
Taking a front row seat in the sand,
My heels dug in,
My fingers spread wide open behind my back,
Supporting my lean, titled,
Looking up at the frothy crash of the water,
The frothy spilling of the ocean,
Late afternoon, the sun still up and warm,
All of me smiling in this treasure
That I was led into through a great many steps.
Tell me of beautiful things,
Like your dreams.
Like what keeps you going –
Tel me what it is.
Speak to me
When your crying face
Still damp, still salty
Starts to smile
Because it feels better
After some time of crying.
Bring me to the very instance,
Tell me what it was that allowed you to consider,
That 'this might be for a lifetime'.
Would you be surprised if you saw me crying
On my knees
Hands raised in praise?
Feeling God’s peace,
And crying
Because I don’t understand,
At peace because I know He does,
But crying because I don’t understand
Why she is gone from us?
Do you remember the moment
That Pastor prayed that God receive her spirit
And sunlight broke through the
Thick, thick clouds?
Let me be honest.
I was thinking about so many people's lives
And I wondered why I believe that
One day it will all make sense,
And that it will all turn to good,
And that there is always a way,
And always cause for hope,
That there is always enough,
And that it is never more than we can bear,
When so many stories
Seem to say that it is not always so.
Let me be honest.
I wondered if it is because
These things have always been true for me:
That in time things come to make sense.
And things turn to good.
And I find that there is a way.
And cause for hope.
Never more than I can bear.
With always, at least, enough.
I say it and I know that I am not alone in this -
Nowhere near alone in this.
But is it always true for everyone?
It makes no sense to me that it wouldn’t be,
But is it my place to say?
That is why I want you to tell me
Of beautiful things:
Like why you keep on trying?
And what kept you going?
And what it took to celebrate
What used to cause you pain?
Bring me to the source of the strength
That allowed you to face
What used to make you run.
I want to look at your heart
Through your eyes
And listen to your soul in your song,
Or in your whisper,
Or in your testimony –
Which is poetry
Beyond form and structure,
Because yours’ are words
That describe something true.
Another Nice Weekend
Above: Joycelyn in the movie "Our Song" (a photo that also represents a restful and reflective weekend)
On Friday evening, after work, I headed home and watched Mission Impossible III with Nuri-Haque and Mr. Fresh. I enjoyed the movie, but I missed a lot of it for two reasons: a phone call from home, and one of the discs was skipping for about 15 minutes of the movie. Regardless, I got the overall point of the movie and enjoyed it. On Saturday, I actually returned the movie for another copy so that I can see what happened in those parts that were skipping. These days, as my journals reflect, I have been watching a lot of movies. I have really been enjoying the films (or should I say ‘flims’ as they are called in Tamale), but I want to spend more of my time reading and doing some writing, and even just going out.
Of the phone call from home, it was my Mom. She called me and seemed as if she needed to talk. She apologized for interrupting the movie, to which I told her that there was no need to apologize. We had a very touching talk, about family, God, hope, prayer, lessons that we are learning, and even “Young and The Restless” (which I have also come to appreciate in comparison to the Mexican soap operas that they broadcast here).
It was actually the second time we spoke that day as I had called her earlier in the day for advice about the pain that I have been having in my abdomen. It is not too bad, but I get a cramp when ever I walk fast, walk for a long time, or run. I keep testing it to see if it is not just a figment of my imagination or something passing. It has been happening for the past couple of weeks though (ever since that late night fufu incident). At this point, I am thinking that I need to go to Accra and get some tests done to find out what it is. I went to a doctor in Tamale on Friday after work, but that was not very helpful. The doctor took my blood pressure, tapped my stomach, asked how I handle pepper (which is not too heavy in the food I have been eating) and then he gave me some anti-acids. That is exactly why I don’t like going to see doctors: most times you use a bunch of hours of the day to go and hear what you already know (e.g. take lots of fluids, get some rest, if it persists, come back). I indicated to the doctor that it is in my upper-abdomen and that the pain occurs when I engage moderate physical activity…so why anti-acids? So I amy be going to Accra.
While I don’t want to go out of town again, being that I went to Cape Coast recently, I really think I should go. It will also allow me to get my digital camera looked at, get an interview done that I wanted to do, and to visit the Christian Action Faith Ministries (it’s a mega-church that Pastor Meikle recommended).
Oh, on the camera subject, that is a story. A guy I work with said he knew someone that could fix my camera. I went with him to a make-shift video editing studio in the house of a man named Afa. He was confident that he could fix it, so I gave him a chance. For over a week, I would go everyday to his studio (which is 2 minutes from the station) just following his words that, “it will be ready tomorrow”. To his credit, he did figure out the problem, which is a damaged gear on the lense which does not allow it to open, close or focus. For some reason, he sent it to a friend of his who said that he, “could fix it”.
When I got it back, not only did it still not open, close and focus, but the spring attached to the on and off button no longer worked and I could not view my photos any longer. The screen turns on, but is now unresponsive to the menu buttons.
Afa explained that the man said he could not fix it and was going to return in to Afa with the camera open and pieces out. Afa insisted that he close it. The man did as he requested.
In the meantime, a little drama was brewing on the side. The first time I went to Afa’s studio, he mentioned something about going to the UK to work through some job offer that he got through the net. Yeah right (who offers jobs and visas for the UK to people that they have never met for areas that have nothing to do with their experience). He actually scanned all of his documents and sent them to the people behind the offer, along with some money through Western Union. I explained to him that Government Officials and Immigration Officers do not use Yahoo email accounts. He was reluctant to believe it was a 419 (which is a term used here for fraud originating from the area code for Nigeria – which is 419 – as many of those scams are said to originate from the there). I am sure you have gotten one of those emails that says, “I am the son of some leader and I have millions of dollars, if you just give me your banking information, we can share the money”; I have often thought to myself, ‘who falls for these things?’…people do.
That was the first two times I went by his studio. The next two times he was bringing some other scams that he was hopeful were real. The fact is, he really, really wants to get to the UK, the US or Canada. He feels that he will get the chance to prove his skills and achieve real success if he can get out of the country. This focus and hope is almost blinding.
After explaining how I knew that the other ‘opportunities’ were also scams, the tone changed. He then showed me a documentary about his life that he made for a woman from the US that he met online. The point of the piece is to point out why he needs to go to the US and be given the opportunity to do so. He began to make his case to me of why I should sponsor him to come, adding that I could make money off of his business when he comes to Canada. (Ironically, no one approached me about a visa for a month then like 5 people did so in three days).
I told him that I was not going to commit to that and that I don’t know how those things work, and that I have met a lot of people in Ghana already, and I am not going to tell him that I am going to do something that I won’t really do. I told him that I will show him what I know and answer any questions that he has. I brought him to the real immigration websites and showed him that this is the hard way to do it and the real way to do it. He really appreciated my honesty. It was actually very encouraging for both of us, to really respect how important it is to keep your word and not to speak words that you can’t keep.
Oh, I have to add the characters that come by that studio…there is “Rasta” who is a high-life artist (without dreads) who I only saw on tape praising Halie Selassie I, and – clearly intoxicated with a beer in his grip – calling Afa Halie Selassie the II for the way he has “helped his career”. And there is “the miracle man” who apparently does all kinds of “miracles”. When I was introduced to him I told him straight, “I deal with God and He is the only source of miracles that I ever need…I don’t need a miracle man, I have prayer”. You can see a lot in people’s eyes, and I looked at his, though he seems nice, I could see a lot of things that I will have no part of…I don’t plan on spending much time there. Actually, I don’t plan on spending any time there.
I was also surprised at work by an unsolicited appointment with a young man named Hamza. He had met Raegen (the previous JHR placee at Justice) with an idea for an NGO, but she was about to leave when they met. She let him know that he could talk to me about his idea when I came, which I found out when he came to the office. He brought his proposal and explained his plan. Basically, he wanted me to get some of my friends from Canada to pay for their own plane tickets, and to come to Tamale and pay $700 a month so that they can volunteer here and learn the culture. As for where they will volunteer and who is going to teach them the culture, no real answers. I made some suggestions, then he rearticulated exactly what I had said to him as if it was what he already had planned to do. The money includes a guarantee of your own bed (note: not your own room, a single bed), and your food. To put that in context, I live in one of the few areas up here with running water and electricity, I have my own room in what is a very nice house, I live with a family that cooks spaghetti and fried rice (which are rare in place of kenke, banku, fufu, tizat, etc) and I pay what converts to $110 Canadian dollars a month. For $700 dollars a month…let’s not overdue this point. But that is part of the reality in Tamale, everyone wants to start an NGO. I told him that I don’t have any friends that would do that.
So that was Friday.
Saturday was nice. I slept in, woke up for breakfast, and then went back to bed for a nap. While I was sleeping, I felt so much laid on my heart to say to my Grandfather. I have not seen him in quite awhile, and due to issues with his health, I was unable to visit him before I left Canada. With all of this on my heart, I went to town with one priority, which was to type a letter that I would send home. The letter ended up being eight pages long; I poured out a lot of my heart and, in the process, discovered a great deal about where I am in life right now.
After that I came home for dinner (I had one at Auntie’s house and one at home), and went to Lieta’s sister’s house. Everyone calls her Auntie, and she lives with her younger sister. At the house was Auntie, younger sister (don’t know her name yet), Lieta, Nuri-Haque, another brother (don’t recall his name either). We were going back and forth between the Miss Ghana Pageant and a Nigerian movie called “The Deceivers 2”. I was cracking everyone up when I was doing my imitations of some of the more amusing contestants. I used a water bottle as my microphone and did my little perfomance. One other funny thing was that I made the mistake of mentioning that Contestant 17 was my favourite; as a result, they were more interested in watching me – to see my reaction – when she came on stage then watching the TV. All in all, it was fun, though I have to add that the storyline of the movie that focused on two women using curses and charms to mess up this one man’s life urked me a bit. It just didn’t feel good to watch.
Sunday morning, the plan was to meet Nuri-Haque at Auntie’s house to go and play basketball. We were supposed to meet at 8am, but thinking that I was still sleeping, he ended going back home. Though I was up (I actual was in and out of sleep from about 5a,) and I wanted to play, I was okay with not going. When I woke up, I really felt like going to church. It had been three weeks since I had been last (due to my trip to Cape Coast) and feeling exhausted the previous week. So, I pressed my clothes and made my way over to the church.
Upon arriving, I was glad to be there. The singing was nice to hear. Though I still don’t like being sat in the front of the church based on being a visitor, I was glad to be there. The message was taken from Ephesians 6, and focused in verse 17. The scripture in question deals with the subject of “putting on the whole armour of God”. Apparently, they have been dealing with that subject for a couple of weeks now. Specifically, the pastor was speaking about the “helmet of salvation”. He began by speaking about the mind and how it controls the body. He then connected the central role your mind has in your body to the central role that your thoughts have in your life. When you understand what it means to have salvation, it transforms how you think and, thus, how you live. He gave a lot of examples of people confused and being caught up in conflicting worlds. He addressed a lot of issues specific to the area: people seeing soothsayers and saying they are Christians, or even people in the church who have become chiefs and have made oaths to various deities. I have enjoyed hearing the word applied to issues that are not as common in Toronto.
After church, I was approached by John (one of the ministers) and introduced to the various Sunday school teachers. They are planning a celebration for the children and they have a role that they want me to play…not quite sure what that is yet, but “Chris love the kids”, so I’m down.
In the afternoon, I headed into town to do a few things where the highlight was getting my haircut while watching Brazil vs. Australia in the Women’s Under-20 FIFA World Championship tournament. Though the haircut is nice, I want to include some shout-outs to my barbers at home who I miss: Ryan (worth the drive to Pickering – I will see you, God willing, in April), Garnell (though you need to learn not to harass your own customers…joker), Ray (you have been clutch for me), and Andrew (thanks to Chin, when all else fails, I get a solid haircut and a solid meal at one of my favourite plazas in the world…Vicotria Park just north of Finch).
Heading home had a nice feeling, though sharing a cab with three ladies who spoke no English but who kept catching jokes made the ride memorable. When I got it I went to my room to clean and put some things in order. After about an hour of listening to some Donnie McKurklin and getting some things in order, Nuri-Haque came to my room with Malimba. That one Malimba is sweet but I don’t get her little two year old self; at night she is my best friend, running to me, falling asleep on me, and in the morning she is always shy of me, usually running away from me. When Nuri-Haque came with her, I was finishing an important catch-up call with GC. That’s’ my brother, so you know how it is.
When I came off the phone, we had a serious conversation. Over the past two days, I had been feeling a lot. September is an anniversary of two very unexpected passings: Dudley in 2003 and Letisha in 2005. On Saturday night, I was praying and tears just soaked my face as I thought about Letisha and the Samuels family. While in church the pastor’s message brought Dudley to mind. So that evening, Nuri-Haque and I spoke about them. I am not doing the conversation justice, but I can say that it was a blessing.
Above: a picture from the 2000 film "Our Song"
The rest of the evening was spent watching “Rules of Engagement” with Samuel L. Jackson, and a very moving film called “Our Song”. The second film is a story of some young girls set in Queens. It really touched me and brought me to miss home; the young girls in the movie really reminded me of the young girls at Driftwood (especially the girls in GTA – Girls Take Action). I really feel it for them. What they have to face is not easy and they need ALL the support and guidance and love that we can give to make it. As tired as I was, I could not sleep. I had to write and I composed a poem that I will post. The poem is called, “Show Me Something Beautiful”.
Above: another photo for "Our Song"
Oh, if you are reading this, it means that the consistently inconsistent internet hurdles of this morning have been overcome!
P.S. I had the best sleep that I have had in awhile as I moved the mattress to the floor. The bed frame was not offering support which was hurting my back. So that was reason to smile!
Today, we continue our AIDS series and we are going to work on some Human Rights public service announcements.
Above: Joycelyn in the movie "Our Song" (a photo that also represents a restful and reflective weekend)
On Friday evening, after work, I headed home and watched Mission Impossible III with Nuri-Haque and Mr. Fresh. I enjoyed the movie, but I missed a lot of it for two reasons: a phone call from home, and one of the discs was skipping for about 15 minutes of the movie. Regardless, I got the overall point of the movie and enjoyed it. On Saturday, I actually returned the movie for another copy so that I can see what happened in those parts that were skipping. These days, as my journals reflect, I have been watching a lot of movies. I have really been enjoying the films (or should I say ‘flims’ as they are called in Tamale), but I want to spend more of my time reading and doing some writing, and even just going out.
Of the phone call from home, it was my Mom. She called me and seemed as if she needed to talk. She apologized for interrupting the movie, to which I told her that there was no need to apologize. We had a very touching talk, about family, God, hope, prayer, lessons that we are learning, and even “Young and The Restless” (which I have also come to appreciate in comparison to the Mexican soap operas that they broadcast here).
It was actually the second time we spoke that day as I had called her earlier in the day for advice about the pain that I have been having in my abdomen. It is not too bad, but I get a cramp when ever I walk fast, walk for a long time, or run. I keep testing it to see if it is not just a figment of my imagination or something passing. It has been happening for the past couple of weeks though (ever since that late night fufu incident). At this point, I am thinking that I need to go to Accra and get some tests done to find out what it is. I went to a doctor in Tamale on Friday after work, but that was not very helpful. The doctor took my blood pressure, tapped my stomach, asked how I handle pepper (which is not too heavy in the food I have been eating) and then he gave me some anti-acids. That is exactly why I don’t like going to see doctors: most times you use a bunch of hours of the day to go and hear what you already know (e.g. take lots of fluids, get some rest, if it persists, come back). I indicated to the doctor that it is in my upper-abdomen and that the pain occurs when I engage moderate physical activity…so why anti-acids? So I amy be going to Accra.
While I don’t want to go out of town again, being that I went to Cape Coast recently, I really think I should go. It will also allow me to get my digital camera looked at, get an interview done that I wanted to do, and to visit the Christian Action Faith Ministries (it’s a mega-church that Pastor Meikle recommended).
Oh, on the camera subject, that is a story. A guy I work with said he knew someone that could fix my camera. I went with him to a make-shift video editing studio in the house of a man named Afa. He was confident that he could fix it, so I gave him a chance. For over a week, I would go everyday to his studio (which is 2 minutes from the station) just following his words that, “it will be ready tomorrow”. To his credit, he did figure out the problem, which is a damaged gear on the lense which does not allow it to open, close or focus. For some reason, he sent it to a friend of his who said that he, “could fix it”.
When I got it back, not only did it still not open, close and focus, but the spring attached to the on and off button no longer worked and I could not view my photos any longer. The screen turns on, but is now unresponsive to the menu buttons.
Afa explained that the man said he could not fix it and was going to return in to Afa with the camera open and pieces out. Afa insisted that he close it. The man did as he requested.
In the meantime, a little drama was brewing on the side. The first time I went to Afa’s studio, he mentioned something about going to the UK to work through some job offer that he got through the net. Yeah right (who offers jobs and visas for the UK to people that they have never met for areas that have nothing to do with their experience). He actually scanned all of his documents and sent them to the people behind the offer, along with some money through Western Union. I explained to him that Government Officials and Immigration Officers do not use Yahoo email accounts. He was reluctant to believe it was a 419 (which is a term used here for fraud originating from the area code for Nigeria – which is 419 – as many of those scams are said to originate from the there). I am sure you have gotten one of those emails that says, “I am the son of some leader and I have millions of dollars, if you just give me your banking information, we can share the money”; I have often thought to myself, ‘who falls for these things?’…people do.
That was the first two times I went by his studio. The next two times he was bringing some other scams that he was hopeful were real. The fact is, he really, really wants to get to the UK, the US or Canada. He feels that he will get the chance to prove his skills and achieve real success if he can get out of the country. This focus and hope is almost blinding.
After explaining how I knew that the other ‘opportunities’ were also scams, the tone changed. He then showed me a documentary about his life that he made for a woman from the US that he met online. The point of the piece is to point out why he needs to go to the US and be given the opportunity to do so. He began to make his case to me of why I should sponsor him to come, adding that I could make money off of his business when he comes to Canada. (Ironically, no one approached me about a visa for a month then like 5 people did so in three days).
I told him that I was not going to commit to that and that I don’t know how those things work, and that I have met a lot of people in Ghana already, and I am not going to tell him that I am going to do something that I won’t really do. I told him that I will show him what I know and answer any questions that he has. I brought him to the real immigration websites and showed him that this is the hard way to do it and the real way to do it. He really appreciated my honesty. It was actually very encouraging for both of us, to really respect how important it is to keep your word and not to speak words that you can’t keep.
Oh, I have to add the characters that come by that studio…there is “Rasta” who is a high-life artist (without dreads) who I only saw on tape praising Halie Selassie I, and – clearly intoxicated with a beer in his grip – calling Afa Halie Selassie the II for the way he has “helped his career”. And there is “the miracle man” who apparently does all kinds of “miracles”. When I was introduced to him I told him straight, “I deal with God and He is the only source of miracles that I ever need…I don’t need a miracle man, I have prayer”. You can see a lot in people’s eyes, and I looked at his, though he seems nice, I could see a lot of things that I will have no part of…I don’t plan on spending much time there. Actually, I don’t plan on spending any time there.
I was also surprised at work by an unsolicited appointment with a young man named Hamza. He had met Raegen (the previous JHR placee at Justice) with an idea for an NGO, but she was about to leave when they met. She let him know that he could talk to me about his idea when I came, which I found out when he came to the office. He brought his proposal and explained his plan. Basically, he wanted me to get some of my friends from Canada to pay for their own plane tickets, and to come to Tamale and pay $700 a month so that they can volunteer here and learn the culture. As for where they will volunteer and who is going to teach them the culture, no real answers. I made some suggestions, then he rearticulated exactly what I had said to him as if it was what he already had planned to do. The money includes a guarantee of your own bed (note: not your own room, a single bed), and your food. To put that in context, I live in one of the few areas up here with running water and electricity, I have my own room in what is a very nice house, I live with a family that cooks spaghetti and fried rice (which are rare in place of kenke, banku, fufu, tizat, etc) and I pay what converts to $110 Canadian dollars a month. For $700 dollars a month…let’s not overdue this point. But that is part of the reality in Tamale, everyone wants to start an NGO. I told him that I don’t have any friends that would do that.
So that was Friday.
Saturday was nice. I slept in, woke up for breakfast, and then went back to bed for a nap. While I was sleeping, I felt so much laid on my heart to say to my Grandfather. I have not seen him in quite awhile, and due to issues with his health, I was unable to visit him before I left Canada. With all of this on my heart, I went to town with one priority, which was to type a letter that I would send home. The letter ended up being eight pages long; I poured out a lot of my heart and, in the process, discovered a great deal about where I am in life right now.
After that I came home for dinner (I had one at Auntie’s house and one at home), and went to Lieta’s sister’s house. Everyone calls her Auntie, and she lives with her younger sister. At the house was Auntie, younger sister (don’t know her name yet), Lieta, Nuri-Haque, another brother (don’t recall his name either). We were going back and forth between the Miss Ghana Pageant and a Nigerian movie called “The Deceivers 2”. I was cracking everyone up when I was doing my imitations of some of the more amusing contestants. I used a water bottle as my microphone and did my little perfomance. One other funny thing was that I made the mistake of mentioning that Contestant 17 was my favourite; as a result, they were more interested in watching me – to see my reaction – when she came on stage then watching the TV. All in all, it was fun, though I have to add that the storyline of the movie that focused on two women using curses and charms to mess up this one man’s life urked me a bit. It just didn’t feel good to watch.
Sunday morning, the plan was to meet Nuri-Haque at Auntie’s house to go and play basketball. We were supposed to meet at 8am, but thinking that I was still sleeping, he ended going back home. Though I was up (I actual was in and out of sleep from about 5a,) and I wanted to play, I was okay with not going. When I woke up, I really felt like going to church. It had been three weeks since I had been last (due to my trip to Cape Coast) and feeling exhausted the previous week. So, I pressed my clothes and made my way over to the church.
Upon arriving, I was glad to be there. The singing was nice to hear. Though I still don’t like being sat in the front of the church based on being a visitor, I was glad to be there. The message was taken from Ephesians 6, and focused in verse 17. The scripture in question deals with the subject of “putting on the whole armour of God”. Apparently, they have been dealing with that subject for a couple of weeks now. Specifically, the pastor was speaking about the “helmet of salvation”. He began by speaking about the mind and how it controls the body. He then connected the central role your mind has in your body to the central role that your thoughts have in your life. When you understand what it means to have salvation, it transforms how you think and, thus, how you live. He gave a lot of examples of people confused and being caught up in conflicting worlds. He addressed a lot of issues specific to the area: people seeing soothsayers and saying they are Christians, or even people in the church who have become chiefs and have made oaths to various deities. I have enjoyed hearing the word applied to issues that are not as common in Toronto.
After church, I was approached by John (one of the ministers) and introduced to the various Sunday school teachers. They are planning a celebration for the children and they have a role that they want me to play…not quite sure what that is yet, but “Chris love the kids”, so I’m down.
In the afternoon, I headed into town to do a few things where the highlight was getting my haircut while watching Brazil vs. Australia in the Women’s Under-20 FIFA World Championship tournament. Though the haircut is nice, I want to include some shout-outs to my barbers at home who I miss: Ryan (worth the drive to Pickering – I will see you, God willing, in April), Garnell (though you need to learn not to harass your own customers…joker), Ray (you have been clutch for me), and Andrew (thanks to Chin, when all else fails, I get a solid haircut and a solid meal at one of my favourite plazas in the world…Vicotria Park just north of Finch).
Heading home had a nice feeling, though sharing a cab with three ladies who spoke no English but who kept catching jokes made the ride memorable. When I got it I went to my room to clean and put some things in order. After about an hour of listening to some Donnie McKurklin and getting some things in order, Nuri-Haque came to my room with Malimba. That one Malimba is sweet but I don’t get her little two year old self; at night she is my best friend, running to me, falling asleep on me, and in the morning she is always shy of me, usually running away from me. When Nuri-Haque came with her, I was finishing an important catch-up call with GC. That’s’ my brother, so you know how it is.
When I came off the phone, we had a serious conversation. Over the past two days, I had been feeling a lot. September is an anniversary of two very unexpected passings: Dudley in 2003 and Letisha in 2005. On Saturday night, I was praying and tears just soaked my face as I thought about Letisha and the Samuels family. While in church the pastor’s message brought Dudley to mind. So that evening, Nuri-Haque and I spoke about them. I am not doing the conversation justice, but I can say that it was a blessing.
Above: a picture from the 2000 film "Our Song"
The rest of the evening was spent watching “Rules of Engagement” with Samuel L. Jackson, and a very moving film called “Our Song”. The second film is a story of some young girls set in Queens. It really touched me and brought me to miss home; the young girls in the movie really reminded me of the young girls at Driftwood (especially the girls in GTA – Girls Take Action). I really feel it for them. What they have to face is not easy and they need ALL the support and guidance and love that we can give to make it. As tired as I was, I could not sleep. I had to write and I composed a poem that I will post. The poem is called, “Show Me Something Beautiful”.
Above: another photo for "Our Song"
Oh, if you are reading this, it means that the consistently inconsistent internet hurdles of this morning have been overcome!
P.S. I had the best sleep that I have had in awhile as I moved the mattress to the floor. The bed frame was not offering support which was hurting my back. So that was reason to smile!
Today, we continue our AIDS series and we are going to work on some Human Rights public service announcements.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Desba!
Today I thought that I would share with you my morning routine.
At about 4:30AM, I open my eyes as I am nudged from deep sleep by the sound of prayers over the local mosque speakers. They are located on the top of the building and are pointed into the surrounding community. The words “Allah-u-akbar” (meaning God is great). It is hard to be upset at that. If I had any late phone calls (which happens because the free phone calls on the network here can only be made between 12:30AM and 5:30AM, and Toronto is four hours early…8PM for you is12AM for me), then I don’t always wake up.
I usually wake up (fully by about 7am). After stirring out of my bed, stretching a bit and praying, I go to my cd player with it’s computer speakers and put on some gospel. I then make my way to the kitchen, where I light the stove and put on some water to boil. I usually come across Chelpong and Melimba laughing and playing as they are bathed by their older sister Teressa.
I then return to my room, choose my clothing and go to press them. By the time I am done, the water is boiled and I take it into the shower room (it is a room unto itself, and I take a warm bucket bath). I do the showers at night, but I like the hot water in the morning.
I then sit down and have some tea (or Milo…a kind of hot chocolate with lots of “vitamin B” for those who don’t know) and some bread.
I then walk for about 5 minutes down the red dirt road (dodging puddles if it rained the day before) and wait at the main road for a taxi. As the taxi leaves Jisonayili (where I live) and heads into town, we pick up passengers until the car is full. Once I get into town, I cut through the taxi year (a parking lot jammed full of taxi’s) and I get the taxi to Lemeshengu. Most of the drivers know that I get off at Radio Justice. For both fares I pay a total of $6000 cds, which converts to about 0.75cents Canadian.
Once I get into the office, I go to check my email and do a little bit of writing. As we continue to do more stories, the rest of my day will get less predictable. I also have to add that Lieta brings the staff some tea and bread for breakfast at around 10am. That is such a delight. I will be doing whatever and she strolls into my office with tea and bread. I really like how she makes tea too (not everyone can make tea well you know).
Yesterday, I didn’t go into work until a bit later in the day. I did not want to stay home, but my body was telling me to rest. I have been feeling a little bit of chest congestion, but it is getting better. My shoulder needs a massage, but that is not an option in Tamale. I have found a great muscle ointment though. Most concerning to has been a cramp in my upper abdomen that I get when ever I run or walk a lot. I think it is my bodies reaction to the Larium (malaria medication). This afternoon I will be going to the doctor to see about it. If you know me, you know I don’t really like to go to the doctor, but I can hear a whole bunch of family and friends in my mind saying “go get it checked”. I have contemplated not including this part, so as not to worry people, but it I really don’t think there is cause to worry.
After some rest, I headed into the office and then ran a few errands. While in town, I found a copy of Shakespeare’s “As You Like It”. I have never read it. I also picked up a couple of movies. This is the list of what I have watched so far (aside from countless Nigerian movies that I can not name):
Cast Away (there are some good lines in that movie
Gladiator (would you believe that I fell asleep the first two times I tried to watch this movie in Toronto…not because of boredom, but exhaustion. I finally saw it and I really enjoyed the allusions to the way that spectacle and public opinion connect to political power)
X-Men III (I just really like X-Men movies…Jean Grae was always my favourite, but I didn’t really like her role in this one)
Daddy Daycare (this movie is very, very funny...it really brightened my day)
Yet to watch, but have at home…
Third World Cop (Jamaican ganster movie)
Mission Impossible III
The Myth (a Jackie Chan movie)
9-11 Doc
Our Song (never heard of it, but it looks good)
Tsosti (this is a South African movie that I wanted to see for a long time. I bought a copy of it, but it was defective…still trying to find another one).
Buying movies here costs just under $2 Canadian, so I have bought a few.
Last night, when I came home, I had two dinners. Cabbage stew and rice at the nieghbours house (I just know her as Lieta’s sister) and spaghetti at home. Both were delicious. I sat with Chelpong and Melimba for a good amount of the evening. At one point, they were both drifting asleep in my lap. They are so sweet.
While eating my second dinner, I sat with Sister Saphora (I said Souka on the last post, but it is Saphora), and Nuri-Haque. We sat watching a documentary on TV about Marcus Garvey. I made a comment, that documentaries are what I enjoy watching most, and that set off quite a passionate monologue from Sister Saphora. We have already had numerous discussions about history, the evil trade, reparations, Ghanian /African politics, development, etc.
She responded to my comment saying that she dislikes documentaries. When I asked her why, she went on to explain the pain that a lot of history stirs up is, in her view, counter-productive. Nuri-Haque countered her point, remarking that we need to know the reality of what has really happened. She felt that we could read about it, but that they should not show movies that illustrate the terrible things that were done. I mostly just listened, then I turned my attention back to the Marcus Garvey documentary.
When it was over, I walked Nuri-Haque to the road. I was feeling a bit sad about what I had seen, as I found the way that his dreams were sabotaged to be quite cruel.
Expressing this to Nuri-Haque, he said that history should never bring our minds to look back, but should gear them towards the future with inspiration. He also added that it would pain Marcus Garvey, or anyone who intended to do good that their legacy was making people feel sad.
His words were true, and I was grateful for them.
From there, I went home to shower and sleep.
The new day has brought new blessings that I have to get to, so that’s all for now.
Today I thought that I would share with you my morning routine.
At about 4:30AM, I open my eyes as I am nudged from deep sleep by the sound of prayers over the local mosque speakers. They are located on the top of the building and are pointed into the surrounding community. The words “Allah-u-akbar” (meaning God is great). It is hard to be upset at that. If I had any late phone calls (which happens because the free phone calls on the network here can only be made between 12:30AM and 5:30AM, and Toronto is four hours early…8PM for you is12AM for me), then I don’t always wake up.
I usually wake up (fully by about 7am). After stirring out of my bed, stretching a bit and praying, I go to my cd player with it’s computer speakers and put on some gospel. I then make my way to the kitchen, where I light the stove and put on some water to boil. I usually come across Chelpong and Melimba laughing and playing as they are bathed by their older sister Teressa.
I then return to my room, choose my clothing and go to press them. By the time I am done, the water is boiled and I take it into the shower room (it is a room unto itself, and I take a warm bucket bath). I do the showers at night, but I like the hot water in the morning.
I then sit down and have some tea (or Milo…a kind of hot chocolate with lots of “vitamin B” for those who don’t know) and some bread.
I then walk for about 5 minutes down the red dirt road (dodging puddles if it rained the day before) and wait at the main road for a taxi. As the taxi leaves Jisonayili (where I live) and heads into town, we pick up passengers until the car is full. Once I get into town, I cut through the taxi year (a parking lot jammed full of taxi’s) and I get the taxi to Lemeshengu. Most of the drivers know that I get off at Radio Justice. For both fares I pay a total of $6000 cds, which converts to about 0.75cents Canadian.
Once I get into the office, I go to check my email and do a little bit of writing. As we continue to do more stories, the rest of my day will get less predictable. I also have to add that Lieta brings the staff some tea and bread for breakfast at around 10am. That is such a delight. I will be doing whatever and she strolls into my office with tea and bread. I really like how she makes tea too (not everyone can make tea well you know).
Yesterday, I didn’t go into work until a bit later in the day. I did not want to stay home, but my body was telling me to rest. I have been feeling a little bit of chest congestion, but it is getting better. My shoulder needs a massage, but that is not an option in Tamale. I have found a great muscle ointment though. Most concerning to has been a cramp in my upper abdomen that I get when ever I run or walk a lot. I think it is my bodies reaction to the Larium (malaria medication). This afternoon I will be going to the doctor to see about it. If you know me, you know I don’t really like to go to the doctor, but I can hear a whole bunch of family and friends in my mind saying “go get it checked”. I have contemplated not including this part, so as not to worry people, but it I really don’t think there is cause to worry.
After some rest, I headed into the office and then ran a few errands. While in town, I found a copy of Shakespeare’s “As You Like It”. I have never read it. I also picked up a couple of movies. This is the list of what I have watched so far (aside from countless Nigerian movies that I can not name):
Cast Away (there are some good lines in that movie
Gladiator (would you believe that I fell asleep the first two times I tried to watch this movie in Toronto…not because of boredom, but exhaustion. I finally saw it and I really enjoyed the allusions to the way that spectacle and public opinion connect to political power)
X-Men III (I just really like X-Men movies…Jean Grae was always my favourite, but I didn’t really like her role in this one)
Daddy Daycare (this movie is very, very funny...it really brightened my day)
Yet to watch, but have at home…
Third World Cop (Jamaican ganster movie)
Mission Impossible III
The Myth (a Jackie Chan movie)
9-11 Doc
Our Song (never heard of it, but it looks good)
Tsosti (this is a South African movie that I wanted to see for a long time. I bought a copy of it, but it was defective…still trying to find another one).
Buying movies here costs just under $2 Canadian, so I have bought a few.
Last night, when I came home, I had two dinners. Cabbage stew and rice at the nieghbours house (I just know her as Lieta’s sister) and spaghetti at home. Both were delicious. I sat with Chelpong and Melimba for a good amount of the evening. At one point, they were both drifting asleep in my lap. They are so sweet.
While eating my second dinner, I sat with Sister Saphora (I said Souka on the last post, but it is Saphora), and Nuri-Haque. We sat watching a documentary on TV about Marcus Garvey. I made a comment, that documentaries are what I enjoy watching most, and that set off quite a passionate monologue from Sister Saphora. We have already had numerous discussions about history, the evil trade, reparations, Ghanian /African politics, development, etc.
She responded to my comment saying that she dislikes documentaries. When I asked her why, she went on to explain the pain that a lot of history stirs up is, in her view, counter-productive. Nuri-Haque countered her point, remarking that we need to know the reality of what has really happened. She felt that we could read about it, but that they should not show movies that illustrate the terrible things that were done. I mostly just listened, then I turned my attention back to the Marcus Garvey documentary.
When it was over, I walked Nuri-Haque to the road. I was feeling a bit sad about what I had seen, as I found the way that his dreams were sabotaged to be quite cruel.
Expressing this to Nuri-Haque, he said that history should never bring our minds to look back, but should gear them towards the future with inspiration. He also added that it would pain Marcus Garvey, or anyone who intended to do good that their legacy was making people feel sad.
His words were true, and I was grateful for them.
From there, I went home to shower and sleep.
The new day has brought new blessings that I have to get to, so that’s all for now.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A REALLY NICE WEEKEND
As of today, I have been in Ghana for one month.
In my first two weeks, it felt as if the eight months was going to be a really long time. At this point, it feels like it is going to fly by. I have the sense that it is going to be a very sad and exciting time leaving…sad to go, excited about the possibilities and the growth. Let me not get ahead of myself though…we can’t miss the real treasure of the moment with our focus gazing into an imagined future.
First of all…I apologize for the technical difficulties. My digital camera has been awaiting repair. There is a stripped gear in the lense, and I may have to go to Accra or Kumasi to have it fixed. It has been a “come tomorrow and it will be fixed” everyday since last week.
I have also had limited internet access for the past couple of days. The details of why this is…basically, people come and use the computer for too many things that have nothing to do with why it is here, and that can create problems. I will speak life though, as I see this issue coming to an end!
Regardless of that, here is my update.
Last week, I saw a letter I the reception area of the station that was inviting station staff out to the National Under-14 (years of age) Soccer Tournament being held in Tamale. For those of you who know my love for sports, you would realize how happy I was for the news.
The opening game of the tournament was the home team Tamale vs Kumasi. When I arrived, the game was about 20 minutes into the first half. I later found out that, while Tamale was dominating the match, Kumasi was up 1-0. Though the city is building a massive sports stadium, the current facility for major games (including the Tamale team the plays in the national premiership league) is mostly grass field void of bleachers. The field was lined with observers surrounding the entire circumference of the field, three or four people deep on all sides. Much of the time, you have to try and peek at the game through a few heads in front of you.
The game offered a number of exciting chances (as young as they are, these guys are good). Finally, with about 15 minutes remaining in the game, Tamale tied the match with a precisely placed header. The crowd went crazy – Literally. Hundred of people ran onto the field chasing the young man who put the ball into the net. People did flips and cartwheels, ran in circles, and a drumming chorus began. After a few minutes a handful of police officers stepped onto the field letting the revelers know that it was time to let the game continue. The game finished in a 1-1 tie…I really wanted to see Tamale get the go-ahead goal! The tournament continues all of this week. I went to another game on Saturday evening where I met a number of officials involved in the development of the sport in Ghana. I have not attended any games since then, but I plan on attending the semi-finals and the finals at the end of this week.
Though Friday evening was spent at the game, I still felt like I had some things to write, so I returned to the office to use the computer. I was actually there until about 10PM. When I got home, I ate and went to sleep.
Saturday morning, I was planning to go and buy some eggs to make. Usually breakfast is some tea and bread, so I was looking forward to some eggs. When I finally woke up, there was already eggs made, and I had a nice breakfast with Mr. Fresh, Sister Souka, Teressa, Chelpa and Malimba (that’s the family I stay with). After eating and getting ready, Sister Souka and I headed into town to do some shopping. I really wanted to by a garbage can for my room and a mat for the floor. With her help I found both. I also bought some groceries.
I picked up a few snacks (cookies, crackers and juice), some green tea with mint leaves (though I still have not found mint…they really don’t know what they are missing). One major part of my shopping list was materials for porridge. They didn’t have cornmeal or cream of wheat, but they did have oats. The other ingredients I found were brown sugar, vanilla essence, evaporated milk (fresh milk is rare and so is condensed milk), and nutmeg (I could not find cinnamon anywhere either).
So Sunday morning, Sister Souka woke me up asking if I was going to make my porridge. Groggy (as I have not been getting the best rest lately), I got up, freshened up, and got in the kitchen. Sister Souka watched me make it, as Mr. Fresh and his brother laughed that I was in the kitchen (which tends to be the woman’s domain). Terressa and Sister Souka found it hard to believe that some of the most respected chefs in the world are men. Anyway, I did it up and it was delicious. They are used to porridge that has pepper in it and is much more bitter. This one was sweet. They also enjoyed the green tea, and can’t wait to have my peppermint tea. Soon enough, they will be converted Jamaicans. Banku will be a thing of the best as ackee and sal’fish exports will fill the ports of Ghana…
That morning, I missed church as I was exhausted and not up to a taxi ride across the city. I enjoyed relaxing at home though . Lietas’ friend Florence came by to learn how to make some doughnuts and chips that she is going to be selling at a stationary store that she is opening. I watched them do that for awhile as I was doing some art with some pastels.
Later on in the afternoon Nuri-Haque and I watched the Chelsea vs. Arsenal match. I have never really watched premiership at home. I watched the Champions League (the continental competition between the various European premiership leagues), but I feel like I am going to get to know those leagues fairly well. I really enjoyed watching the match and I am learning the players.
After watching the game, Nuri-Haque and I went out to play some futeball. We were just doing some keep ups and passing the ball around. Eventually, some pretty talented young guys (Salman, Mousa, and Salman’s brother…don’t recall his name), joined us. We ended up playing for about three hours. Sweaty and dirty! You should have seen how thick the red dust of the road was around my chins.
Once the sun began to set, I went in to shower and eat. Then I was presented with an issue…we were having fufu for dinner. After my last experience with late night fufu (and I vowed never to do that again), I ate the stew with some bread and took enough bites of the fufu so as not to offend. Just to let everyone know, I was fine the next morning.
Once the week began, it was back to Justice. I will write a separate journal about what is going on here. We are working on a few stories (and if you haven’t guessed by the site) one of them is about HIV/AIDS.
Before I go, I just want to let you all know about a very nice dinner I had yesterday. Florence (who apparently is going to be Nuri-Haque’s wife) had Lieta and I over for dinner. We ate veggies and rice (which had chicken in it…but it was still called veggies and rice), some red wine, and some oranges for dessert. We ate as we watched Ghana playing against Togo, and with a mixture of local gospel and American Hip Hop on the radio.
I enjoyed the evening.
Oh, I have to add that the 11th of August was a dual birthday (my Dad and my Granny – his mother). I tried to reach them, but only got my Dad a few days late. It was great to speak to him as it has been awhile. A lot of the traveling that we did around B.C. when I was younger prepared me for what I am experiencing now.
Don’t think that I forgot that I promised a poem about the Cape and a write-up about the words “Abruni” and ”Silminga”…they’re coming.
As of today, I have been in Ghana for one month.
In my first two weeks, it felt as if the eight months was going to be a really long time. At this point, it feels like it is going to fly by. I have the sense that it is going to be a very sad and exciting time leaving…sad to go, excited about the possibilities and the growth. Let me not get ahead of myself though…we can’t miss the real treasure of the moment with our focus gazing into an imagined future.
First of all…I apologize for the technical difficulties. My digital camera has been awaiting repair. There is a stripped gear in the lense, and I may have to go to Accra or Kumasi to have it fixed. It has been a “come tomorrow and it will be fixed” everyday since last week.
I have also had limited internet access for the past couple of days. The details of why this is…basically, people come and use the computer for too many things that have nothing to do with why it is here, and that can create problems. I will speak life though, as I see this issue coming to an end!
Regardless of that, here is my update.
Last week, I saw a letter I the reception area of the station that was inviting station staff out to the National Under-14 (years of age) Soccer Tournament being held in Tamale. For those of you who know my love for sports, you would realize how happy I was for the news.
The opening game of the tournament was the home team Tamale vs Kumasi. When I arrived, the game was about 20 minutes into the first half. I later found out that, while Tamale was dominating the match, Kumasi was up 1-0. Though the city is building a massive sports stadium, the current facility for major games (including the Tamale team the plays in the national premiership league) is mostly grass field void of bleachers. The field was lined with observers surrounding the entire circumference of the field, three or four people deep on all sides. Much of the time, you have to try and peek at the game through a few heads in front of you.
The game offered a number of exciting chances (as young as they are, these guys are good). Finally, with about 15 minutes remaining in the game, Tamale tied the match with a precisely placed header. The crowd went crazy – Literally. Hundred of people ran onto the field chasing the young man who put the ball into the net. People did flips and cartwheels, ran in circles, and a drumming chorus began. After a few minutes a handful of police officers stepped onto the field letting the revelers know that it was time to let the game continue. The game finished in a 1-1 tie…I really wanted to see Tamale get the go-ahead goal! The tournament continues all of this week. I went to another game on Saturday evening where I met a number of officials involved in the development of the sport in Ghana. I have not attended any games since then, but I plan on attending the semi-finals and the finals at the end of this week.
Though Friday evening was spent at the game, I still felt like I had some things to write, so I returned to the office to use the computer. I was actually there until about 10PM. When I got home, I ate and went to sleep.
Saturday morning, I was planning to go and buy some eggs to make. Usually breakfast is some tea and bread, so I was looking forward to some eggs. When I finally woke up, there was already eggs made, and I had a nice breakfast with Mr. Fresh, Sister Souka, Teressa, Chelpa and Malimba (that’s the family I stay with). After eating and getting ready, Sister Souka and I headed into town to do some shopping. I really wanted to by a garbage can for my room and a mat for the floor. With her help I found both. I also bought some groceries.
I picked up a few snacks (cookies, crackers and juice), some green tea with mint leaves (though I still have not found mint…they really don’t know what they are missing). One major part of my shopping list was materials for porridge. They didn’t have cornmeal or cream of wheat, but they did have oats. The other ingredients I found were brown sugar, vanilla essence, evaporated milk (fresh milk is rare and so is condensed milk), and nutmeg (I could not find cinnamon anywhere either).
So Sunday morning, Sister Souka woke me up asking if I was going to make my porridge. Groggy (as I have not been getting the best rest lately), I got up, freshened up, and got in the kitchen. Sister Souka watched me make it, as Mr. Fresh and his brother laughed that I was in the kitchen (which tends to be the woman’s domain). Terressa and Sister Souka found it hard to believe that some of the most respected chefs in the world are men. Anyway, I did it up and it was delicious. They are used to porridge that has pepper in it and is much more bitter. This one was sweet. They also enjoyed the green tea, and can’t wait to have my peppermint tea. Soon enough, they will be converted Jamaicans. Banku will be a thing of the best as ackee and sal’fish exports will fill the ports of Ghana…
That morning, I missed church as I was exhausted and not up to a taxi ride across the city. I enjoyed relaxing at home though . Lietas’ friend Florence came by to learn how to make some doughnuts and chips that she is going to be selling at a stationary store that she is opening. I watched them do that for awhile as I was doing some art with some pastels.
Later on in the afternoon Nuri-Haque and I watched the Chelsea vs. Arsenal match. I have never really watched premiership at home. I watched the Champions League (the continental competition between the various European premiership leagues), but I feel like I am going to get to know those leagues fairly well. I really enjoyed watching the match and I am learning the players.
After watching the game, Nuri-Haque and I went out to play some futeball. We were just doing some keep ups and passing the ball around. Eventually, some pretty talented young guys (Salman, Mousa, and Salman’s brother…don’t recall his name), joined us. We ended up playing for about three hours. Sweaty and dirty! You should have seen how thick the red dust of the road was around my chins.
Once the sun began to set, I went in to shower and eat. Then I was presented with an issue…we were having fufu for dinner. After my last experience with late night fufu (and I vowed never to do that again), I ate the stew with some bread and took enough bites of the fufu so as not to offend. Just to let everyone know, I was fine the next morning.
Once the week began, it was back to Justice. I will write a separate journal about what is going on here. We are working on a few stories (and if you haven’t guessed by the site) one of them is about HIV/AIDS.
Before I go, I just want to let you all know about a very nice dinner I had yesterday. Florence (who apparently is going to be Nuri-Haque’s wife) had Lieta and I over for dinner. We ate veggies and rice (which had chicken in it…but it was still called veggies and rice), some red wine, and some oranges for dessert. We ate as we watched Ghana playing against Togo, and with a mixture of local gospel and American Hip Hop on the radio.
I enjoyed the evening.
Oh, I have to add that the 11th of August was a dual birthday (my Dad and my Granny – his mother). I tried to reach them, but only got my Dad a few days late. It was great to speak to him as it has been awhile. A lot of the traveling that we did around B.C. when I was younger prepared me for what I am experiencing now.
Don’t think that I forgot that I promised a poem about the Cape and a write-up about the words “Abruni” and ”Silminga”…they’re coming.
A THOUGHT ABOUT TIME
One thing I want to share with you that I realized. A lot of times in Toronto, I would always be like "I'm so busy". People that I have spoken to from Toronto have said the same thing. Yet, God is the ultimate mathemitician and has not made a mistake with our time. He has given us the right amount of time to do what we are supposed to do. If we are too busy, that means we are using our time to do things we shouldn't and that is why we can't do the things that we should.
Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Easier said than done, but better done than said.
One thing I want to share with you that I realized. A lot of times in Toronto, I would always be like "I'm so busy". People that I have spoken to from Toronto have said the same thing. Yet, God is the ultimate mathemitician and has not made a mistake with our time. He has given us the right amount of time to do what we are supposed to do. If we are too busy, that means we are using our time to do things we shouldn't and that is why we can't do the things that we should.
Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Easier said than done, but better done than said.
Ev'ry'ting Bbbblllllllluuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Last November, through God's divine orchestration of life, I was in attendance at the send-of and tribute for Sean "Blu" Rose. I did not know Sean personally, but I was there to support some very close friends of mine.
The service took place at the Church of the Nativity in the heart of Malvern. Being back in the area on this particular day had a powerful impact on my life.
I have many memories from my teenage years - from Malvern Rec Centre to Malvern Town Centre, and numerous spots in the surrounding streets.
While we arrived early, we came to find the sanctuary full. As the clock ticked towards 11am, the gym on hte far side of the church (which had a television to broadcast the service) also began to fill. By the time the service began, you could not move through the lobby or find a seat. I still question if my memory serves me correctly, when I recall going around to the front of the church and seeing a line-up that trailed along Tapscott, almost reaching Neilson.
Sean "Blu" Rose was a man of the community. 28 years of age, he worked at the Malvern Community Centre, he worked at Fleming Public School, he was a Hip Hop artist, and he was an informal mentor to countless youth of all ages. He was also an inspiration to his peers and the pride of the elders around him.
With many dreams, goals and aspirations still in his scope, he passed from a brain aneurism. Losing "Blu" has been hard for a lot of people.
It was overwhelming to see how many people love him. At the gravesite, hundreds of people were there. It was there that an understanding hit me: at the end of it all, it is not your bank book, or your job, or your house that counts, it is the people that you made to feel loved.
In honour of what he stood for and the way his love affected people, many in the community have organized themselves toward a number of initiatives which include a scholarship, community programs, and the renaming of parts of the Malvern community.
The first of those initiatives to be realized was the renaming of Empringham Park to Sean "Blu" Rose Park, for which a ceremony was held this past Sunday. I knew that I would not be able to attend to some important things while here in Ghana, and this is something that I would not have missed.
What is most beautiful about this is to see the community writing history. Blu is a part of the history of Malvern and the history the city. He represents so many people and so many voices. That is now recorded. Children will grow up and see that name, and it is important that we share his story.
Take a ride down from the 401 to Neilson then turn right onto Tapscott. After a few streets you turn right onto Empringham. There you can find the park. You will see a monument to our history and an inspiration for our future.
Last November, through God's divine orchestration of life, I was in attendance at the send-of and tribute for Sean "Blu" Rose. I did not know Sean personally, but I was there to support some very close friends of mine.
The service took place at the Church of the Nativity in the heart of Malvern. Being back in the area on this particular day had a powerful impact on my life.
I have many memories from my teenage years - from Malvern Rec Centre to Malvern Town Centre, and numerous spots in the surrounding streets.
While we arrived early, we came to find the sanctuary full. As the clock ticked towards 11am, the gym on hte far side of the church (which had a television to broadcast the service) also began to fill. By the time the service began, you could not move through the lobby or find a seat. I still question if my memory serves me correctly, when I recall going around to the front of the church and seeing a line-up that trailed along Tapscott, almost reaching Neilson.
Sean "Blu" Rose was a man of the community. 28 years of age, he worked at the Malvern Community Centre, he worked at Fleming Public School, he was a Hip Hop artist, and he was an informal mentor to countless youth of all ages. He was also an inspiration to his peers and the pride of the elders around him.
With many dreams, goals and aspirations still in his scope, he passed from a brain aneurism. Losing "Blu" has been hard for a lot of people.
It was overwhelming to see how many people love him. At the gravesite, hundreds of people were there. It was there that an understanding hit me: at the end of it all, it is not your bank book, or your job, or your house that counts, it is the people that you made to feel loved.
In honour of what he stood for and the way his love affected people, many in the community have organized themselves toward a number of initiatives which include a scholarship, community programs, and the renaming of parts of the Malvern community.
The first of those initiatives to be realized was the renaming of Empringham Park to Sean "Blu" Rose Park, for which a ceremony was held this past Sunday. I knew that I would not be able to attend to some important things while here in Ghana, and this is something that I would not have missed.
What is most beautiful about this is to see the community writing history. Blu is a part of the history of Malvern and the history the city. He represents so many people and so many voices. That is now recorded. Children will grow up and see that name, and it is important that we share his story.
Take a ride down from the 401 to Neilson then turn right onto Tapscott. After a few streets you turn right onto Empringham. There you can find the park. You will see a monument to our history and an inspiration for our future.
BREAKING THE STIGMA AND THE SILENCE
In an article from the Toronto Star published on August 15th, 2006, the input of actor Richard Gere and MTV executive William Roedy were use to discuss the role of the media. Specifically, the focus was on outlets outside of the typical hard news formats, and the role that they can play in reversing the spread of the disease. The following is an excerpt from that article:
He spoke of his work with the Indian and Russian media, following the launch of the Global Media Initiative in 2004 by UN Secretary General Kofi Annan, along with the Kaiser Family Foundation and UNAIDS.
"Seasoned CEOs and owners came together and they brought cultural icons to power it," Gere said. He told how the Indian media created public service advertisements targeted at specific audiences: families, youth, high and low income. Messages were incorporated into game shows and embedded into plotlines of television shows.
"If it's done with good actors, high-quality production, then you humanize it. This is something I deeply believe in," said Gere, mentioning an award-winning medical show on Star India that incorporated the story of an HIV-positive patient.
William Roedy, president of MTV Networks International and chair of the Global Media AIDS Initiative, moderated the special session. "Media has such a huge role to play and being in it, I can say we're not doing enough," said Roedy. "Media can be a force for good."
In an article from the Toronto Sun from the same date, Bill Clinton echoed that very sentiment when he was quoted as saying, "We need to find (HIV-positive) people who are recognized and respected and have them help us fight the stigma,".
The article then moved from Bill Clinton to Bill Gates who was quoted as offering a few critical observations, which accentuate the importance of creatively using various forms of media in order to combat the stigma that is attached to HIV/AIDS.
While such brush strokes are problematic, Gates was paraphrased as pointing out, “that many rich countries have started to turn the corner, but the stigma is still a major problem in poor counties”.
Moving beyond a rich/poor stereotype, one can say that regions where far-reaching campaigns have been undertaken to eliminate the stigma that is attached to having the infection have seen progress, whereas, regions without such projects see complex consequences to the stigma. While these campaigns require funding, they don't always take place in "rich countries".
Such consequences being low testing rates, leading to minimal awareness of infection which facilitates the continued spread. Such a circumstance leads to a false sense of how common infection is and the degree of the potential risk, and the possible treatments available are not accessed.
From my personal experience, I would counter the assumption of “rich” countries having a less of a stigma in dealing with those infected, in contrast to “poor” countries. In Tamale, Ghana, a region in the midst of an attempt to catch up to the level of development that many of the major urban centres in the southern part of the country have seen, the message of “show compassion to those living with HIV/AIDS” has infiltrated the minds of a lot of people. While not everyone lives up to those words, the consciousness is there, and there seems to be a common understanding that “showing compassion” is the right thing to do; whether or not people do it, is another story complicated by the fact that barely anyone knows anyone that has HIV/AIDS or if they themselves have it.
On the other side of that coin, I can say that I had never heard the importance of “showing compassion” to people who have tested positive before I came to Ghana. The message of staying protected was certainly hit home while in Toronto, yet I would suggest that the stigma attached to testing positive would be substantial in the majority of Canadian communities.
Globally eroding the stigma of infection is vital. The consequences are not only serious, but they are also peculiar. Again, in the Toronto Sun, Bill Gates was quoted as saying that, "We have a rocky road until we develop a vaccine or a cure ... 90% of HIV-positive people don't know it. We won't catch up until people are aware they could be giving the virus to others." People don’t know because people don’t talk about it. Most of us can not say many (if any) people that we know of that are infected. If we could actually be shown through an omniscient view of the world how many people we come in contact with that have been infected, I am sure that we would be shocked.
The combined factors of the fatal effect of the virus, the possibility of transmission through various forms of human contact, the void of a cure, and the primary vehicles of transmission being through sex and drug use, HIV/AIDS stands in a category of its own in terms of diseases. As a result, silence and secretiveness impede the possibility of stopping the spread.
When infected with malaria or affected by cancer, people rely on the support of the family, friends, their community, the state, and the medical profession to do everything possible to help them. Such is not the case with HIV/AIDS.
Though the silence is a major problem, when we think of the disease from a self-centred viewpoint, silence makes sense. Think about it:
‘Why would I want people to know that I am infected?’
‘Why would I put myself through the rejection, and the undue challenges that I would have to face?’
‘With being infected, I have enough to deal with already, why add more of a burden to my life?’.
Would you really want people to be afraid of having physical contact with you? Even to go to some ones house for dinner and to have them feel that they have to pour bleach on the utensils that you have used, people being afraid to go in a swimming pool with you, and the assumption that you, if not married, will be single and alone for the rest of your life are just some of the hurtful bumps along the road for someone who is open about being infected
.
From a short term, self-centred view of the HIV/AIDS issue, silence is only logical. However, if we look at the epidemic with the long term vision of eliminating from the face of the planet, and we look at the hardships that our generation must endure to relieve future generations of even heavier consequences, then silence becomes one of the greatest threats to progress.
In order to break the silence, there needs to be cooperation on a grand-scale between all segments of the globally community. It is an issue for those who have not been infected as much as it is for those who have been infected. It is an issue for nations with relatively small segments of their population at risk, as much as it is an issue for nations that are being crippled by the virus.
In order for those who have not been infected to stay as safe as possible, they have to know the real scale of the epidemic. In order for those infected to break the silence, they have to know that they are safe to do so. While the distribution of the virus at this current point in time is disproportionately high where factors such as poverty are rampant, AIDS does not respect nationality, ethnicity, class, sexuality or gender. Those aspects might make your chances higher, but it only takes one exposure. Read personal testimonies and the most common words among those infected - both those that are still alive and those that have passed on - is "I never thought it would/could be me".
There is no one who is to sit outside of the house on this matter. There is no one who does not have a role to play. As long as we continue to assume that this is an issue for someone else in some other part of the city we live in, or another part of the country we live in, or in some other part of the world that that we live in, this scourge will continue to advance.
It is the interconnectedness of human-kind that makes us all vulnerable, yet it is the same interconnectedness that offers us our greatest chance in eliminating this virus.
It is our role to be educated on the disease, and to commit to a lifestyle that eliminates the possibility of transmission: getting tested, staying protected, being honest, and demanding sanitized medical equipment. Additionally, we need to develop a global culture where people are loved and supported, so that the enemy of silence can be disarmed.
I will add that there are major tragedies and widespread systems of injustice in our past that we can look at now and see with disgust and disdain. Many of us look at parts of human history and ask “how could people do that?” and we ask “how could people stand by and let that happen”. Let that not be said of us when future generations look at the history or our time.
In closing, I will echo a suggestion made by Bill Gates, that if we overcome this disease, the momentum of our cooperative abilities could snowball into other major plagues facing humanity such as malaria, malnutrition, and poverty to name a few. While we deal with the physical and psychological attacks of war across the globe, let us imagine and activate global cooperation with the same degree of zeal and passion. We can topple HIV/AIDS the way we do cities and nations...
In an article from the Toronto Star published on August 15th, 2006, the input of actor Richard Gere and MTV executive William Roedy were use to discuss the role of the media. Specifically, the focus was on outlets outside of the typical hard news formats, and the role that they can play in reversing the spread of the disease. The following is an excerpt from that article:
He spoke of his work with the Indian and Russian media, following the launch of the Global Media Initiative in 2004 by UN Secretary General Kofi Annan, along with the Kaiser Family Foundation and UNAIDS.
"Seasoned CEOs and owners came together and they brought cultural icons to power it," Gere said. He told how the Indian media created public service advertisements targeted at specific audiences: families, youth, high and low income. Messages were incorporated into game shows and embedded into plotlines of television shows.
"If it's done with good actors, high-quality production, then you humanize it. This is something I deeply believe in," said Gere, mentioning an award-winning medical show on Star India that incorporated the story of an HIV-positive patient.
William Roedy, president of MTV Networks International and chair of the Global Media AIDS Initiative, moderated the special session. "Media has such a huge role to play and being in it, I can say we're not doing enough," said Roedy. "Media can be a force for good."
In an article from the Toronto Sun from the same date, Bill Clinton echoed that very sentiment when he was quoted as saying, "We need to find (HIV-positive) people who are recognized and respected and have them help us fight the stigma,".
The article then moved from Bill Clinton to Bill Gates who was quoted as offering a few critical observations, which accentuate the importance of creatively using various forms of media in order to combat the stigma that is attached to HIV/AIDS.
While such brush strokes are problematic, Gates was paraphrased as pointing out, “that many rich countries have started to turn the corner, but the stigma is still a major problem in poor counties”.
Moving beyond a rich/poor stereotype, one can say that regions where far-reaching campaigns have been undertaken to eliminate the stigma that is attached to having the infection have seen progress, whereas, regions without such projects see complex consequences to the stigma. While these campaigns require funding, they don't always take place in "rich countries".
Such consequences being low testing rates, leading to minimal awareness of infection which facilitates the continued spread. Such a circumstance leads to a false sense of how common infection is and the degree of the potential risk, and the possible treatments available are not accessed.
From my personal experience, I would counter the assumption of “rich” countries having a less of a stigma in dealing with those infected, in contrast to “poor” countries. In Tamale, Ghana, a region in the midst of an attempt to catch up to the level of development that many of the major urban centres in the southern part of the country have seen, the message of “show compassion to those living with HIV/AIDS” has infiltrated the minds of a lot of people. While not everyone lives up to those words, the consciousness is there, and there seems to be a common understanding that “showing compassion” is the right thing to do; whether or not people do it, is another story complicated by the fact that barely anyone knows anyone that has HIV/AIDS or if they themselves have it.
On the other side of that coin, I can say that I had never heard the importance of “showing compassion” to people who have tested positive before I came to Ghana. The message of staying protected was certainly hit home while in Toronto, yet I would suggest that the stigma attached to testing positive would be substantial in the majority of Canadian communities.
Globally eroding the stigma of infection is vital. The consequences are not only serious, but they are also peculiar. Again, in the Toronto Sun, Bill Gates was quoted as saying that, "We have a rocky road until we develop a vaccine or a cure ... 90% of HIV-positive people don't know it. We won't catch up until people are aware they could be giving the virus to others." People don’t know because people don’t talk about it. Most of us can not say many (if any) people that we know of that are infected. If we could actually be shown through an omniscient view of the world how many people we come in contact with that have been infected, I am sure that we would be shocked.
The combined factors of the fatal effect of the virus, the possibility of transmission through various forms of human contact, the void of a cure, and the primary vehicles of transmission being through sex and drug use, HIV/AIDS stands in a category of its own in terms of diseases. As a result, silence and secretiveness impede the possibility of stopping the spread.
When infected with malaria or affected by cancer, people rely on the support of the family, friends, their community, the state, and the medical profession to do everything possible to help them. Such is not the case with HIV/AIDS.
Though the silence is a major problem, when we think of the disease from a self-centred viewpoint, silence makes sense. Think about it:
‘Why would I want people to know that I am infected?’
‘Why would I put myself through the rejection, and the undue challenges that I would have to face?’
‘With being infected, I have enough to deal with already, why add more of a burden to my life?’.
Would you really want people to be afraid of having physical contact with you? Even to go to some ones house for dinner and to have them feel that they have to pour bleach on the utensils that you have used, people being afraid to go in a swimming pool with you, and the assumption that you, if not married, will be single and alone for the rest of your life are just some of the hurtful bumps along the road for someone who is open about being infected
.
From a short term, self-centred view of the HIV/AIDS issue, silence is only logical. However, if we look at the epidemic with the long term vision of eliminating from the face of the planet, and we look at the hardships that our generation must endure to relieve future generations of even heavier consequences, then silence becomes one of the greatest threats to progress.
In order to break the silence, there needs to be cooperation on a grand-scale between all segments of the globally community. It is an issue for those who have not been infected as much as it is for those who have been infected. It is an issue for nations with relatively small segments of their population at risk, as much as it is an issue for nations that are being crippled by the virus.
In order for those who have not been infected to stay as safe as possible, they have to know the real scale of the epidemic. In order for those infected to break the silence, they have to know that they are safe to do so. While the distribution of the virus at this current point in time is disproportionately high where factors such as poverty are rampant, AIDS does not respect nationality, ethnicity, class, sexuality or gender. Those aspects might make your chances higher, but it only takes one exposure. Read personal testimonies and the most common words among those infected - both those that are still alive and those that have passed on - is "I never thought it would/could be me".
There is no one who is to sit outside of the house on this matter. There is no one who does not have a role to play. As long as we continue to assume that this is an issue for someone else in some other part of the city we live in, or another part of the country we live in, or in some other part of the world that that we live in, this scourge will continue to advance.
It is the interconnectedness of human-kind that makes us all vulnerable, yet it is the same interconnectedness that offers us our greatest chance in eliminating this virus.
It is our role to be educated on the disease, and to commit to a lifestyle that eliminates the possibility of transmission: getting tested, staying protected, being honest, and demanding sanitized medical equipment. Additionally, we need to develop a global culture where people are loved and supported, so that the enemy of silence can be disarmed.
I will add that there are major tragedies and widespread systems of injustice in our past that we can look at now and see with disgust and disdain. Many of us look at parts of human history and ask “how could people do that?” and we ask “how could people stand by and let that happen”. Let that not be said of us when future generations look at the history or our time.
In closing, I will echo a suggestion made by Bill Gates, that if we overcome this disease, the momentum of our cooperative abilities could snowball into other major plagues facing humanity such as malaria, malnutrition, and poverty to name a few. While we deal with the physical and psychological attacks of war across the globe, let us imagine and activate global cooperation with the same degree of zeal and passion. We can topple HIV/AIDS the way we do cities and nations...
CARING ABOUT HIV/AIDS
If I was in Toronto right now, I imagine that I would be attending the International AIDS Conference.
Over the past week, I have gone on the net to read about some of the major updates. Before coming to Ghana, one of my primary responsibilities in Toronto was doing publicity for the 24th Annual Harry Jerome Awards. As part of my duties, I authored bios for all of the award recipients. One of those recipients was Stephen Lewis.
I decided to purchase the book he released in October 2005, “Race Against Time”. In it, a few of his speeches attempted to convey the impact that AIDS is having in Africa, many of the major factors that are feeding the problem, and the response of the international community to this crisis. The picture that he paints is candid and – while there are rays of hope – it is bleak.
I also want to add a small anecdote to this article. Last year, I was working with Canada Basketball doing communications. While working there I came across two very intriguing individuals: Tania and Jama who were working with Concrete Hoops. They were working on a project that had brought them to Swaziland to build basketball facilities and to conduct workshops on skill development.
There are so many touching moments that they shared with me that were inspiring, but one aspect of what they faced was hard to digest. Tania, while in Swaziland, was focused on encouraging young woman to get involved in basketball. She saw confidence and self-determination – as well as remarkable empowerment – come with their participation in the program. While on a school bus going to a tournament, Tania sat with some of the girls talking. One of the things that came up was that some of the girls wrote Hip Hop lyrics. Too shy to recite the verses they had written, they, instead, allowed Tania to read their lyrics. It was a shock that had Tania numb when she saw that the words on the pages were preoccupied with death. She had expected lyrics about their clothes, boys they liked, and how nice their skills were, not the expectation of an early grave.
Considering that an estimated one in three people in Swaziland are infected with HIV/ AIDS, such an awareness of human mortality at an age that tends to be veiled in the guise of eternal youth is logical.
Tania also told me that some people are very careless sexually, because the thinking is that it is inevitable. When one in three people around you is infected, that is not as insane as it might seem. And it is such realities that are hard to extract from the numbers and statistics.
In reading some of the major articles printed in the Toronto media on the issue, there are two things that stood out to me: the stigma attached to having AIDS, and the role of the media in combating this crisis. I actually see those subjects as being connected.
In Tamale, Ghana, there are a number of billboards that urge people to “show compassion” to those living with HIV / AIDS. I don’t think that this can happen through any more effective method than for people to see the issue and the victims of the virus as they see themselves.
In terms of how this happens, I am suggesting a focus on telling the stories of people affected. When we realize what it is like to grow up in a ‘child-headed household’ where the children have been orphaned by the disease, when we see the burden of grandmothers who have outlived their own children raising large numbers of grandchildren, or we hear the disturbing tint that the prevalence of untimely death can put on the usually radiant stage of one’s youth, we will care.
The media: radio, newspapers, magazine, television, novels, plays, and films can share these stories. When people are given the opportunity to feel these stories, they will care.
Can you imagine Stephen Harper skipping the International AIDS Conference if he had grown up an orphan to parents killed by the virus? Even if he had spent time in one of the communities across the world that have been ravaged by its deadly touch or had witnessed someone dear to him slowly lose the fight, would the issue be as far down his list of priorities as it seems to be?
I think when we share the stories we can connect people to the issue. My own path to awareness is a testament to this.
I can not name one person that I know who has the virus or who has even had someone close to them have the virus. I have never, knowingly, spoken to, shaken hands with, or hugged someone that I knew had HIV / AIDS. The closest it gets for me is Magic Johnson; however, the saavy public relations approach that his camp takes with his health and the availability of cutting edge treatment that his financial circumstance offers him actually makes it seem like it is not as serious as it really is.
Until the past year, HIV / AIDS has not been something that I really thought much about. Hearing Tania’s story of the book of lyrics written by a teenage girl in Swaziland made it personal for me. Reading the accounts that Stephen Lewis shared of the daily impact that this is having on people’s lives opened my eyes, and the irresponsibility of the international community added to this.
We really have to go out of your way and find the stories. It is a given that if family and friends close to us were dealing with the virus, or if it was a personal reality, we would care a lot more. While you might not know people that it is affecting, it is affecting people. That should be enough, and when we come in contact with the human stories, it usually is enough to care. A lot of things happen when a lot of people care about something.
If I was in Toronto right now, I imagine that I would be attending the International AIDS Conference.
Over the past week, I have gone on the net to read about some of the major updates. Before coming to Ghana, one of my primary responsibilities in Toronto was doing publicity for the 24th Annual Harry Jerome Awards. As part of my duties, I authored bios for all of the award recipients. One of those recipients was Stephen Lewis.
I decided to purchase the book he released in October 2005, “Race Against Time”. In it, a few of his speeches attempted to convey the impact that AIDS is having in Africa, many of the major factors that are feeding the problem, and the response of the international community to this crisis. The picture that he paints is candid and – while there are rays of hope – it is bleak.
I also want to add a small anecdote to this article. Last year, I was working with Canada Basketball doing communications. While working there I came across two very intriguing individuals: Tania and Jama who were working with Concrete Hoops. They were working on a project that had brought them to Swaziland to build basketball facilities and to conduct workshops on skill development.
There are so many touching moments that they shared with me that were inspiring, but one aspect of what they faced was hard to digest. Tania, while in Swaziland, was focused on encouraging young woman to get involved in basketball. She saw confidence and self-determination – as well as remarkable empowerment – come with their participation in the program. While on a school bus going to a tournament, Tania sat with some of the girls talking. One of the things that came up was that some of the girls wrote Hip Hop lyrics. Too shy to recite the verses they had written, they, instead, allowed Tania to read their lyrics. It was a shock that had Tania numb when she saw that the words on the pages were preoccupied with death. She had expected lyrics about their clothes, boys they liked, and how nice their skills were, not the expectation of an early grave.Considering that an estimated one in three people in Swaziland are infected with HIV/ AIDS, such an awareness of human mortality at an age that tends to be veiled in the guise of eternal youth is logical.
Tania also told me that some people are very careless sexually, because the thinking is that it is inevitable. When one in three people around you is infected, that is not as insane as it might seem. And it is such realities that are hard to extract from the numbers and statistics.
In reading some of the major articles printed in the Toronto media on the issue, there are two things that stood out to me: the stigma attached to having AIDS, and the role of the media in combating this crisis. I actually see those subjects as being connected.
In Tamale, Ghana, there are a number of billboards that urge people to “show compassion” to those living with HIV / AIDS. I don’t think that this can happen through any more effective method than for people to see the issue and the victims of the virus as they see themselves.
In terms of how this happens, I am suggesting a focus on telling the stories of people affected. When we realize what it is like to grow up in a ‘child-headed household’ where the children have been orphaned by the disease, when we see the burden of grandmothers who have outlived their own children raising large numbers of grandchildren, or we hear the disturbing tint that the prevalence of untimely death can put on the usually radiant stage of one’s youth, we will care.
The media: radio, newspapers, magazine, television, novels, plays, and films can share these stories. When people are given the opportunity to feel these stories, they will care.
Can you imagine Stephen Harper skipping the International AIDS Conference if he had grown up an orphan to parents killed by the virus? Even if he had spent time in one of the communities across the world that have been ravaged by its deadly touch or had witnessed someone dear to him slowly lose the fight, would the issue be as far down his list of priorities as it seems to be?
I think when we share the stories we can connect people to the issue. My own path to awareness is a testament to this.
I can not name one person that I know who has the virus or who has even had someone close to them have the virus. I have never, knowingly, spoken to, shaken hands with, or hugged someone that I knew had HIV / AIDS. The closest it gets for me is Magic Johnson; however, the saavy public relations approach that his camp takes with his health and the availability of cutting edge treatment that his financial circumstance offers him actually makes it seem like it is not as serious as it really is.
Until the past year, HIV / AIDS has not been something that I really thought much about. Hearing Tania’s story of the book of lyrics written by a teenage girl in Swaziland made it personal for me. Reading the accounts that Stephen Lewis shared of the daily impact that this is having on people’s lives opened my eyes, and the irresponsibility of the international community added to this.
We really have to go out of your way and find the stories. It is a given that if family and friends close to us were dealing with the virus, or if it was a personal reality, we would care a lot more. While you might not know people that it is affecting, it is affecting people. That should be enough, and when we come in contact with the human stories, it usually is enough to care. A lot of things happen when a lot of people care about something.
This article is serious...
A T-shirt tells one man's story:
Believe Dhliwayo helps immigrants deal with HIV
Aug. 12, 2006. 11:30 AM
MOIRA WELSH
STAFF REPORTER
The Toronto Star
Among AIDS activists, there is a term that describes the physical signs of HIV medication, the gaunt cheeks, the upper body fat, the slow nausea-induced gait.
They call it the Scarlet Letter.
For those who bear it, the stigma is inescapable. Many retreat into depression and isolation, worn down by the fear in the eyes that settle upon them.
One man, Believe Dhliwayo, has taken a different approach, similar to the Puritan heroine in The Scarlet Letter, who took ownership of the red `A' — a letter that marked her as an adulteress and was pinned to her chest — by embroidering it with shiny gold thread. Dhliwayo wears a T-shirt emblazoned with huge letters, "HIV POSITIVE."
"Some of my friends say, `Oh. Oh. I cannot hang out with you. Some called me and said, `You really embarrassed me.' Strangers look at me from head to toe. Some pointed. Some said, `Look at that.' You can see a lot in their expressions," Dhliwayo says. "To me, it is a sign of the inadequacies of addressing issues around the stigma."
For years, Dhliwayo worked as an AIDS activist in Zimbabwe, a country that has been devastated by the disease. Now 35, he says he became infected with HIV by having sex with a woman when he was a student away from home for the first time. He is now married, the father of three children, with a wife who is also HIV-positive.
For activists, especially those who fight for the rights of homosexuals, Zimbabwe is not a pleasant place. Dhliwayo requested refugee status in Canada last fall and moved to Toronto, where he became involved in the People With AIDS Foundation.
Canada started testing new immigrants for HIV in 2002, and many people coming from countries where AIDS is prevalent have tested positive. Dhliwayo has known for 11 years that he is HIV-positive but went through the same testing program.
He said he has spoken to many HIV-positive newcomers to Canada who feel lost.
"I am talking about the need for effective psychological counselling to prepare people to learn their (HIV) status. When someone tests positive, their life changes forever. It is very intimidating to come to a new country, and then learn they have this virus in their body. People have to understand how very stressful this can be."
Survival, for Dhliwayo, turns on the ability to live a spiritual life and move past the ignominy surrounding the disease.
"I have now accepted that I am HIV-positive. That means I have got a tiny little virus in my system which is battling to manifest itself, but, okay, here are the rules of the game. If I eat well, I don't get stressed out, I can suppress it.
"I had to plan what I want to do in life, and I want to fight the stigma. Because the truth is, life goes on."
A T-shirt tells one man's story:
Believe Dhliwayo helps immigrants deal with HIV
Aug. 12, 2006. 11:30 AM
MOIRA WELSH
STAFF REPORTER
The Toronto Star
Among AIDS activists, there is a term that describes the physical signs of HIV medication, the gaunt cheeks, the upper body fat, the slow nausea-induced gait.
They call it the Scarlet Letter.
For those who bear it, the stigma is inescapable. Many retreat into depression and isolation, worn down by the fear in the eyes that settle upon them.
One man, Believe Dhliwayo, has taken a different approach, similar to the Puritan heroine in The Scarlet Letter, who took ownership of the red `A' — a letter that marked her as an adulteress and was pinned to her chest — by embroidering it with shiny gold thread. Dhliwayo wears a T-shirt emblazoned with huge letters, "HIV POSITIVE."
"Some of my friends say, `Oh. Oh. I cannot hang out with you. Some called me and said, `You really embarrassed me.' Strangers look at me from head to toe. Some pointed. Some said, `Look at that.' You can see a lot in their expressions," Dhliwayo says. "To me, it is a sign of the inadequacies of addressing issues around the stigma."
For years, Dhliwayo worked as an AIDS activist in Zimbabwe, a country that has been devastated by the disease. Now 35, he says he became infected with HIV by having sex with a woman when he was a student away from home for the first time. He is now married, the father of three children, with a wife who is also HIV-positive.
For activists, especially those who fight for the rights of homosexuals, Zimbabwe is not a pleasant place. Dhliwayo requested refugee status in Canada last fall and moved to Toronto, where he became involved in the People With AIDS Foundation.
Canada started testing new immigrants for HIV in 2002, and many people coming from countries where AIDS is prevalent have tested positive. Dhliwayo has known for 11 years that he is HIV-positive but went through the same testing program.
He said he has spoken to many HIV-positive newcomers to Canada who feel lost.
"I am talking about the need for effective psychological counselling to prepare people to learn their (HIV) status. When someone tests positive, their life changes forever. It is very intimidating to come to a new country, and then learn they have this virus in their body. People have to understand how very stressful this can be."
Survival, for Dhliwayo, turns on the ability to live a spiritual life and move past the ignominy surrounding the disease.
"I have now accepted that I am HIV-positive. That means I have got a tiny little virus in my system which is battling to manifest itself, but, okay, here are the rules of the game. If I eat well, I don't get stressed out, I can suppress it.
"I had to plan what I want to do in life, and I want to fight the stigma. Because the truth is, life goes on."
Monday, August 14, 2006
Math of Life
Let’s just say that you will live for 80 years on this earth.
In 80 years, there are 960 months.
In 80 years, there are 4160 weeks.
In 80 years, there are 29, 200 days.
In 29, 200 days there are 700, 800 hours.
In 700, 800 hours, there are 42, 084, 000 minutes.
In 42, 084, 000 minutes, there are 2,522,880,000 seconds.
If you are to spend 8 hours a day (one third of each day sleeping), then you have 467, 200 waking hours.
In 467, 200 waking hours, there are 28,032,000 waking minutes.
In 28, 032,000 waking minutes, there are 1,681,920,000 (1 billion, 681 million, 920 thousand) waking seconds.
In the year 2000, there was an estimated 6 billion people on the planet.
In three years, from 1997 to 2000, there was an estimated growth of 200 million people.
The rate of population growth continues to accelerate.
Let us estimate that there are currently 6, 400, 000, 000 (6 billion, 400 million) people on the planet at this very moment.
You have 6,400,000,000 people and (if you live 80 years) 1,681,920,000 seconds of life that you are not sleeping.
If you divide the number of waking seconds that you have in an 80 year life equally among the world’s 6.4 billion people, you get a number of 0.26.
The significance of the number 0.26 is this: if you were to spend your entire 80 years with people, dedicating an equal amount of time to everyone on the planet, you would get 0.26 seconds with each person.
Not even enough time to say ‘hi’ or to even make eye contact.
If you were to attempt to spend one hour with each person alive at this very moment on the earth, you would only get to meet 700,800 people...that is only 0.00012 percent of the world.
Consider how long it takes to really get to know someone well and build a solid friendship? How many hours? Days? Months? Years?
If you were to have 10 really good friends in your life span, that would mean you would have gotten close to only 0.0000000016% of the planet’s population.
When you say that someone is “One in a million”, that means there a 6400 other people just like them alive right now. If you have 10 good friends in your life, they are each 1 in 640,000,000. Consider that your odds of winning Lotto 6/49 (1 in 13,983,816) are 45.8 times better than the chances of meeting each of those 10 people.
The point is this: No one can spend every waking hour of their lives meeting people. We need to eat, to think, to pray, to have some time alone, to study, to work, etc. This reality brings the number of 0.26 seconds per person even lower, to maybe 0.026 (and that is still being very ambitious!).
There are people that you will spend years with. There are people that you will spend most of your lifetime with. Who those people are is not an accident. When you think of the chances of becoming close to someone, know that the odds are huge!
If you were meant to be close to everyone, there would be enough time to for everyone. The fact is, there is only enough time for a select few people that you are meant to know, and who are meant to know you.
Remember this and we can’t look at our family and friends as anything but extraordinary miracles. Out of millions of possibilities, I have been blessed to be close to you. We have something precious that God knew we had to share with each other, that is why he orchestrated life in a way that we would meet.
I am grateful for that.
AN EMAIL FROM MY GRANDMOTHER.
I love to read and I love to write. I majored in English while at York, and – in so many other ways – the use of words has been a major part of my purpose.
When I was in grade two (seven years old), my teacher (a very short red hed woman – I was almost as tall as her) brought me to sit at her table. We had been given an assignment to write a short story. I still remember her round chubby face, with her glasses lodged into the bulges of her cheeks and forehead that seemed to almost overtake her eyes. She reviewed my story with praise and with concern.
Her praise was that she was impressed with the ideas and the clarity in my story. Her concern was my spelling, which she deemed as “awful”. I was spelling “you” with “u” (this was long before msn and text messaging), “I” with “aye”, as well, I had variations that I can not recall for “and” that required some explanation.
Somehow, the word got from my teacher to my mother to my Grandmother. Grandma was concerned and was determined to do something about this. Her grandson was going to read and write well.
The chronology from here is not quite as important as the memories. I remember summer mornings at a northern Ontario cottage, being woken up by Grandma around 6 or 7 in the morning. She would bring my brother and I down, near the water and we would sit and take turns reading from her collection of Br’ere Rabbit books. We would go through the sounding out of words, and whether I was reading or watching the page as she did so, I recall that words began to make sense to me. They became mine to understand and to use.
I also recall one summer in Scarborough when Grandma was ‘babysitting’ my brother and I for a month of our summer vacation. Our desire was to ride our bikes, play with our friends, play video games and watch TV. Grandma had other ideas. Being outside, various ‘field trips’ and visits to the local library topped her priorities. On our trips to the library, my brother and I tended to gravitate to the ‘literary works’ of Garfield, Family Circus and the profound observations of The Far Side. While Grandma allowed us to take out some of those books, she didn’t share our reverence for them. She pushed us to also choose novels (word books along with our picture books). It was through this requirement that I discovered Roald Dahl (author of “James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and many other titles).
With great resistance, we were each sent to our rooms for some time of novel reading. I can still see a particular moment from that summer in my memory. I was in my room doing the ‘forced’ reading, and it was a bright afternoon. I was reading “James and the Giant Peach”. As I was reading, the words on the page became vivid, alive and exciting. It was such a discovery. A passion to read was born in me. While this new love did not interfere with my loyalty to our Nintendo (and later, our Sega Genesis), I do recall reading every book that Roald Dahl wrote.
She also used reading to add a touch of magic to our lives. When my mother brought my brother and I from British Columbia (where we were born) to Toronto, Grandma met us at Union Station to pick us up from our train ride across the country. When we got to her car, we were surprised to find sticks of red licorice on her windshield. Once we got to her condo (having never been inside of a building so tall – we actually thought that the reflection of the street lights on the windows of her 10th story view was an eye level view of the stars), we were unsure of what to make of the shiny new pennies under our pillows. After reading us the stories of “Matthew and the Midnight Tow Truck Driver” and “Christopher and the Dream Dragon”, it became clear that the licorice on the windshield was to keep the midnight two truck driver from turning her car into an dinky car, and the pennies was compensation for the dream dragon bringing us good dreams.
My Grandma has actually written a book about our family history. She also was so important to me upon returning from Senegal and processing the revelation of purpose and destiny in my life. She is so dear to me. I love her tremendously. She has her quirks (if I were to share with you all some of the stories, you might not believe me).
I say all of this to put into some context an email that I received from my Grandma last week, that I wanted to share with you all. I asked her, and she was happy to give her permission to publish it.
So, here it is...
Email Title: What’s Happening!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My Dearest Christopher,
Your mother thoughtfully printed me a copy your "Blog" Journals to date. I haven't yet seen the pictures but I will soon. How happy I am to read the one dated Monday, July 31st and to learn that, after two weeks of anguish, you have found accommodation in a spacious home with electricity, running water and a welcoming family! One question though, "Is it a general perception, in Africa, that Westerners are heathen?”
I'm also happy to read that the people at "Justice" are open to your suggestions. Be cautious and try not to be too disappointed if you find out that there is a tendency of Africans to smile, say "Yes" and take no action. Chuck found that to be the case in Uganda. He would issue instructions, the native doctors at the hospital would say "Yes, Bwana" and would then go away, get drunk and neglect their duties.
(NOTE: Chuck is my Great Uncle Charlie...Grandma’s Brother. He is a doctor and spent two years in Uganda early in his career).
I've been told that Westerners find living in such a society, where one must "barter" for everything, exhausting. I would be at a decided disadvantage since I am hesitant to question the stated price of anything. If you were on a holiday, you could walk away or go without but, since you will be there for eight months, you must find a way to cope but it can't be easy.
Since I have not yet seen your pictures, I am wondering how old is the minister at Winning Life Chapel, John. I'm happy that you have found a friend in him although that Church Service that went on for hours sounded horrific. I guess the pace of life in a small town in West Africa will also take some getting used to. When you finally come home, our fast-paced society will seem insane by comparison.
It must be good for the ego, if a pain, to have the girls flocking around you, you handsome white man you!!!!!
I particularly liked the piece from your friend, Fadina, "Luv 4 Self." We Christians often struggle with this concept because we are taught to put ourselves last after God and Others. The question then becomes "how can we give our best in the service of God and Others if we have a low opinion of ourselves?” I guess it comes down to a matter of balance. We must love God and believe that he is at work in our lives - then we are able to love ourselves more.
I'm sorry that you have felt loneliness acutely since arriving in Africa. I'm sure there are many times, since leaving Toronto, you have questioned your decision. Setting out in a new direction is scary and, yes, we do feel alone for a time. You also know, of course, that no growth happens in our lives unless we are willing to take that "leap of faith" and strive for that which we thought was unattainable. And, once you get a handle on your new situation, and accomplish your work in Africa, you will look back on this as one of the defining moments of your young life.
Remember, lonliness, while painful at the time, can be a powerful motivator. Learning to "Be Still And Know That I Am God", builds up our strength and gives God an opportunity to speak to us. You have all the right instincts, Christopher, in that you know that if it doesn't feel right, you shouldn't do it. Had you not listened to your heart, you might have settled for living in a compound where you could never have done your best work. Learning to enjoy your own company is likely to be the best discovery you will make while in Africa.
Your story about Ms. Lou, being a person who has influenced your life along with Nelson Mandela, Maya Angelou and Angela Davis is very touching. It took me some time to read "Bans A Killin." It reminds me so much of mother's love of French-Canadian Poetry. For instance: "The Habitant Farmer" by William Henry Drummond, which she could recite from beginning to end.
De place I get born me ees up on de reever, near foot of de rapids dat's called Cheval Blanc.
Beeg mountain behin' it so high you cain't climb it, an' whole place she's maybe two honder arpents.
De Foder of me, he was habitant farmer ma grandfoder too, and hees fader also
Dey don't mak no monee but dat isn't fonny for it's not easy get ev'ryting you mus know....
...We leev very quiet way up in de countree, don't put on sam' style like de beeg village
W'en we don't get de monee, you t'ink dat ees fonny an' mak' plaintee sport on de "Bottes Sauvages".
But I tol' you dat's true, I don't go on de Ceety, if you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent
I rader be stay me an' spen' de las' day me, on farm by de rapids dat's call Cheval Blanc.
As for Fidel Castro being one of your heroes, you would have to convince me about that choice. The Cuban exiles in Miami, who have waited 40 some years of his dictatorship to return to their homeland, have a decidedly different opinion of the man.
(NOTE: Grandma and I have had some candid discussions over the years on many controversial subjects...we have not had this one yet).
Anyway Christopher, I have enjoyed reading your Blog and spending this time thinking about you and your new life in Tamale. I hope each day there will find you strengthened and fulfilled in a whole new way.
Love,
Grandma
I love to read and I love to write. I majored in English while at York, and – in so many other ways – the use of words has been a major part of my purpose.
When I was in grade two (seven years old), my teacher (a very short red hed woman – I was almost as tall as her) brought me to sit at her table. We had been given an assignment to write a short story. I still remember her round chubby face, with her glasses lodged into the bulges of her cheeks and forehead that seemed to almost overtake her eyes. She reviewed my story with praise and with concern.
Her praise was that she was impressed with the ideas and the clarity in my story. Her concern was my spelling, which she deemed as “awful”. I was spelling “you” with “u” (this was long before msn and text messaging), “I” with “aye”, as well, I had variations that I can not recall for “and” that required some explanation.
Somehow, the word got from my teacher to my mother to my Grandmother. Grandma was concerned and was determined to do something about this. Her grandson was going to read and write well.
The chronology from here is not quite as important as the memories. I remember summer mornings at a northern Ontario cottage, being woken up by Grandma around 6 or 7 in the morning. She would bring my brother and I down, near the water and we would sit and take turns reading from her collection of Br’ere Rabbit books. We would go through the sounding out of words, and whether I was reading or watching the page as she did so, I recall that words began to make sense to me. They became mine to understand and to use.
I also recall one summer in Scarborough when Grandma was ‘babysitting’ my brother and I for a month of our summer vacation. Our desire was to ride our bikes, play with our friends, play video games and watch TV. Grandma had other ideas. Being outside, various ‘field trips’ and visits to the local library topped her priorities. On our trips to the library, my brother and I tended to gravitate to the ‘literary works’ of Garfield, Family Circus and the profound observations of The Far Side. While Grandma allowed us to take out some of those books, she didn’t share our reverence for them. She pushed us to also choose novels (word books along with our picture books). It was through this requirement that I discovered Roald Dahl (author of “James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and many other titles).
With great resistance, we were each sent to our rooms for some time of novel reading. I can still see a particular moment from that summer in my memory. I was in my room doing the ‘forced’ reading, and it was a bright afternoon. I was reading “James and the Giant Peach”. As I was reading, the words on the page became vivid, alive and exciting. It was such a discovery. A passion to read was born in me. While this new love did not interfere with my loyalty to our Nintendo (and later, our Sega Genesis), I do recall reading every book that Roald Dahl wrote.
She also used reading to add a touch of magic to our lives. When my mother brought my brother and I from British Columbia (where we were born) to Toronto, Grandma met us at Union Station to pick us up from our train ride across the country. When we got to her car, we were surprised to find sticks of red licorice on her windshield. Once we got to her condo (having never been inside of a building so tall – we actually thought that the reflection of the street lights on the windows of her 10th story view was an eye level view of the stars), we were unsure of what to make of the shiny new pennies under our pillows. After reading us the stories of “Matthew and the Midnight Tow Truck Driver” and “Christopher and the Dream Dragon”, it became clear that the licorice on the windshield was to keep the midnight two truck driver from turning her car into an dinky car, and the pennies was compensation for the dream dragon bringing us good dreams.
My Grandma has actually written a book about our family history. She also was so important to me upon returning from Senegal and processing the revelation of purpose and destiny in my life. She is so dear to me. I love her tremendously. She has her quirks (if I were to share with you all some of the stories, you might not believe me).
I say all of this to put into some context an email that I received from my Grandma last week, that I wanted to share with you all. I asked her, and she was happy to give her permission to publish it.
So, here it is...
Email Title: What’s Happening!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My Dearest Christopher,
Your mother thoughtfully printed me a copy your "Blog" Journals to date. I haven't yet seen the pictures but I will soon. How happy I am to read the one dated Monday, July 31st and to learn that, after two weeks of anguish, you have found accommodation in a spacious home with electricity, running water and a welcoming family! One question though, "Is it a general perception, in Africa, that Westerners are heathen?”
I'm also happy to read that the people at "Justice" are open to your suggestions. Be cautious and try not to be too disappointed if you find out that there is a tendency of Africans to smile, say "Yes" and take no action. Chuck found that to be the case in Uganda. He would issue instructions, the native doctors at the hospital would say "Yes, Bwana" and would then go away, get drunk and neglect their duties.
(NOTE: Chuck is my Great Uncle Charlie...Grandma’s Brother. He is a doctor and spent two years in Uganda early in his career).
I've been told that Westerners find living in such a society, where one must "barter" for everything, exhausting. I would be at a decided disadvantage since I am hesitant to question the stated price of anything. If you were on a holiday, you could walk away or go without but, since you will be there for eight months, you must find a way to cope but it can't be easy.
Since I have not yet seen your pictures, I am wondering how old is the minister at Winning Life Chapel, John. I'm happy that you have found a friend in him although that Church Service that went on for hours sounded horrific. I guess the pace of life in a small town in West Africa will also take some getting used to. When you finally come home, our fast-paced society will seem insane by comparison.
It must be good for the ego, if a pain, to have the girls flocking around you, you handsome white man you!!!!!
I particularly liked the piece from your friend, Fadina, "Luv 4 Self." We Christians often struggle with this concept because we are taught to put ourselves last after God and Others. The question then becomes "how can we give our best in the service of God and Others if we have a low opinion of ourselves?” I guess it comes down to a matter of balance. We must love God and believe that he is at work in our lives - then we are able to love ourselves more.
I'm sorry that you have felt loneliness acutely since arriving in Africa. I'm sure there are many times, since leaving Toronto, you have questioned your decision. Setting out in a new direction is scary and, yes, we do feel alone for a time. You also know, of course, that no growth happens in our lives unless we are willing to take that "leap of faith" and strive for that which we thought was unattainable. And, once you get a handle on your new situation, and accomplish your work in Africa, you will look back on this as one of the defining moments of your young life.
Remember, lonliness, while painful at the time, can be a powerful motivator. Learning to "Be Still And Know That I Am God", builds up our strength and gives God an opportunity to speak to us. You have all the right instincts, Christopher, in that you know that if it doesn't feel right, you shouldn't do it. Had you not listened to your heart, you might have settled for living in a compound where you could never have done your best work. Learning to enjoy your own company is likely to be the best discovery you will make while in Africa.
Your story about Ms. Lou, being a person who has influenced your life along with Nelson Mandela, Maya Angelou and Angela Davis is very touching. It took me some time to read "Bans A Killin." It reminds me so much of mother's love of French-Canadian Poetry. For instance: "The Habitant Farmer" by William Henry Drummond, which she could recite from beginning to end.
De place I get born me ees up on de reever, near foot of de rapids dat's called Cheval Blanc.
Beeg mountain behin' it so high you cain't climb it, an' whole place she's maybe two honder arpents.
De Foder of me, he was habitant farmer ma grandfoder too, and hees fader also
Dey don't mak no monee but dat isn't fonny for it's not easy get ev'ryting you mus know....
...We leev very quiet way up in de countree, don't put on sam' style like de beeg village
W'en we don't get de monee, you t'ink dat ees fonny an' mak' plaintee sport on de "Bottes Sauvages".
But I tol' you dat's true, I don't go on de Ceety, if you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent
I rader be stay me an' spen' de las' day me, on farm by de rapids dat's call Cheval Blanc.
As for Fidel Castro being one of your heroes, you would have to convince me about that choice. The Cuban exiles in Miami, who have waited 40 some years of his dictatorship to return to their homeland, have a decidedly different opinion of the man.
(NOTE: Grandma and I have had some candid discussions over the years on many controversial subjects...we have not had this one yet).
Anyway Christopher, I have enjoyed reading your Blog and spending this time thinking about you and your new life in Tamale. I hope each day there will find you strengthened and fulfilled in a whole new way.
Love,
Grandma
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