Winneba

This past weekend I took a trip to Winneba to meet up with a friend-of-a-friend.  Back story: before I was going to Ghana, a good friend of mine from high school messaged me and her friend in a group chat to introduce us, as me and this other women will both be in Ghana at the same time.  My high school friend knew this person from their mutual time in the Peace Corp in Thailand.  So I started chatting with the woman staying in Ghana, and she helped me a great deal with my preparation (talking me out of three pairs of shoes I almost brought that would have been a disaster) and cultural acclimation (taught me to not be upset with children calling me "Obruni").  She was already an invaluable resource even before I got in country.  And once I was here, she and I were in regular contact, and she helped me with some of my homesick woes that preoccupied my first week here.  Well, we made plans for me to visit her in Winneba, a coastal town where she lives and works.  This past weekend my hosts were in Accra doing wedding preparations (that I just found out today I'll be going to!  That'll get it's own post after the traditional wedding - stay tuned!).  Thus, I decided it was a perfect weekend to stay in Winneba if it worked for my friend, and she said it did! So I had a delightful brief visit that has been one of the highlights of the trip thus far!

Early Saturday morning (5 AM) I was up with my hosts packing up.  The bus ride to Accra that they would be taking stops at Winneba junction, so I was able to take the same bus as my hosts.  We piled on, and I was able to score the last window seat, in the very back! I very much wanted to look at the scenery as we drove (though I didn't take any pictures of this).  We departed just past 6 AM.

It was mostly an uneventful trip, but about 20 minutes out of Winneba, suddenly our bus blew a tyre (I'm purposefully going for the British spelling because that is how it is spelled here) - one right below me!  It was very loud.  We pulled onto the side of the road... but then got back on the road and kept driving.  I was confused, until we pulled into a gas station and I realized that that was the reason we had got back on the road on the blown out tyre - the driver decided to get to the gas station to attempt repairs.  We all filed off the bus, and luckily since we were at a gas station, we were able to get some breakfast.  We purchased cookies and I got my first Ghanaian ice cream - I have hesitated buying it to bring home in the past, figuring it will melt in the taxi ride home.  But this was the occasion for ice cream!  So strawberry ice cream from Ghana and coconut cookies from Iran were my breakfast.  After about 30 minutes of waiting, we were informed that the tyre was changed (for the doughnut, I assume) and we all got back in the bus.

The bus ride from then on was again very noisy!  Even the Ghanaians on the bus had looks of alarm, which made me feel like I wasn't overexagerating how weird it was that we were clipping along on this very noisy doughnut!  Below is a selfie of my feelings of the situation, and a picture of what the bus looked like from the very back left corner.

Luckily we made it to Winneba junction and I shuffled past everyone with my huge backpack.  I waited a little bit and my friend met me, and we were off! First we went back to her place so I could wash my face and relax under a fan for a minute while we discussed our options for the day.  We deiced that we would visit the market, then go to the smokehouse and cold store the organization she works for built, then head to a "spot" on the beach for some beers, get some food, and figure it out from there.  Perfect!  

After walking around the market, we went to the "livelihoods site" where her organization, Challenging Heights, has built a "smokehouse," or a covered area where multiple smoking ovens were built, and a cold store where fish and other perishables can be stored.  Challenging heights works to fight child slavery in Ghana and built the smokehouse when they realized that one of the most concrete ways to stop parents from selling their children (to what seem like reputable individuals and "schools" but are usually slavers) was to strengthen the economic power of mothers. Winneba is a coastal, fishery-dependent community, thus many of the women living there work as fish processors.  The cold store allows the women to not have to take an entire day to travel to Tema to procure fish, and the smoke house gives the women a reliable, covered place where they can smoke fish all year long, even during the rainy season.  Challenging heights also built many private smoke ovens for individual fish processors, but I only visited the communal one.  Below are some pictures:  

After seeing the communal smoke house and cold-store, I discussed with my friend the possibility of using Winneba as a study site, in order to have a comparison fishery-dependent community in Central Region to compare to my four study sites in Western Region (see the "Shama" post).  We both felt this was a good idea, and she was kind enough to offer to host me for a week. What is especially appealing is the fact that I am able to capitalize on the connections Challenging Heights already has formed with these women, and will need to do less in terms of building trust with them.  Further, they do not suffer from research fatigue, which many fishery-dependent communities do.  Subsequent to this trip, I've communicated with the director of Challenging Heights as well as the Programs Coordinator at Hen Mpoano, and have been officially invited to conduct survey research at the livelihoods site at Winneba.  Hooray!  I'm not gonna lie, I fishery-geek'ed out pretty hard during this part of my visit!  

After visiting the livelihoods site, my friend and I went to a rasta spot on the beach to drink some beers.  Sadly, because I'm terrible at remembering to take pictures, I didn't get any pictures of the beautiful view from here.  But I'll get some the next time I come back!  I did get a picture of my new favorite furry friend, though: 

That is the only cat I've pet so far in Ghana, and after 3 weeks starved for a chance to pet a feline (but seeing them everywhere!) I was so delighted to meed this sweet creature.  This is the reason I am certain that when I return to Winneba I'll go back to this charming rasta spot by the beach.  Also, the Ghanaian lager "Club" is growing on me quite a bit (yesterday I bought four bottles of it for the house). 

Here are some pictures I took on the road from the beach, looking back on it: 

         

And here is a picture of a Jewish center in Winneba(!): 

After getting some Jollof (which I cannot get enough of and am going to eat a bunch of in about an hour when it's lunch time) we went back to my friend's place to rest given how early I had to wake up the night before.  After a brief nap, we walked around Winneba a bit and stopped by a spot where she knows the owner.  She got "indome," which is a brand of ramen that is cooked at stands that only exist at night, and is stir fried with vegetables, egg, and meat if one takes meat (my friend does not).  I got "keliweli," which is delicious spicy fried plantains.  We turned in at about 10, as we were feeling sleepy.  

The next day, after being treated to home-cooked breakfast, my friend helped me take a taxi back to Winneba junction.  There, I caught a "tro tro," which is the local name for a minibus.  I originally thought I would take a tro to Cape Coast and there catch another one to Takoradi, but the tro I got on actually went all the way to Takoradi!  Below is a picture I took from the tro, near Cape Coast. 

I was able to tell the tro driver which stop in Sekondi I wished to get off at, and was able to get off the tro and catch a taxi home without a hitch!  I'm now officially able to travel by myself anywhere in the country and know I'm able to give directions back to my place of residence in Sekondi if need be.  Hooray autonomy! 

So that's the end of my entry on this very successful weekend trip to Winneba.  I'm greatly looking forward to spending a week there a the end of October in order to conduct surveys, see my friend, eat indome, and pet a friendly kitty! 

Shama

Earlier this week I took a trip to Shama district, and visited four coastal communities about 45 minutes from Takoradi, in order to view study sites in preparation for my return to the area with surveys.  The areas were: two fishing areas in the town of Shama proper, and the villages Abuesi and Aboadze.  This visit took place on a Tuesday, the fisherman's holiday, so the canoes and smoking equipment was not in use and I was able to take a bunch of cool pictures of them.

The smallest, craziest road I've ever been on (also this was taken in torrential rain)

View from the car

Canoes!  After reading about the canoe fishing industry for so many years, seeing them in person was sort of breathtaking.  They are larger than I thought they would be!  I saw a few people making canoes but was unable to get a picture. 

Beach.  The lines you see are how the canoes are tied up. 

Poverty.  Many of the houses in the fishing community looked like this. 

Fort San Sebastian, where African slaves were held before being shipped to the Americas.  A sobering sight. 

Racks used to smoke fish

Inside of an indoor fish smoking unit

I love this picture

Outdoor smoking ovens - more susceptible to not being able to be used during the rain, which visited us in torrents at the end of our visit.  They are not in use today because, since no fish are landed on a Tuesday, no fish are processed that day. 

Trash: the beach was littered with it.  Sad. 

Hope you enjoyed the pictures, dear reader!

Religion

There have been multiple times in my life when I’ve made sure that I don’t have anything on my body that identifies me as a Jew.  For the months that I dated a very religious Russian I would never wear my Magen David, for example (they also called me “the Jew” when discussing me – not sure if they cared that I could hear them most times).  Ghana is one of those times, and I left all my Jewish jewelry at home.  It somewhat makes me feel disingenuous, because I’m personally very proud of my faith and my culture.  But it seems like an issue of safety – I don’t know how a Jew will be perceived in a foreign country.  I also never wore anything Jew-identifying while in France, and that was over 10 years ago when the antisemitism wasn't even as bad as it is now. 

Without those obvious clues to my religion, I “pass.”  Like a non-effeminate gay man who doesn’t announce his sexuality at every turn, or the light skinned mixed race woman, or a transgender person who is not automatically recognized as such.  And I realize that this is both a privilege, the ability to pass, and somewhat of a burden.  I feel like I’m lying by omission constantly.  I don’t look very phenotypically Jewish (read: Ashkenazic) because I’m only ½ genetically Jewish through my mother and my looks generally favor my father’s side of the family.  So I “pass.”  Perhaps if I wore my Magen David proudly nothing would happen to me.  Maybe I’d get a few “you killed Christ!” comments.  Maybe someone would try to throw things at me (that’s something that’s never happened, but you’d better believe I’ve gotten the verbal abuse before).  I don’t know.  I’m “out” as a Jew with my hosts and have never felt even a shred of antisemitism from them, or from anyone I work with.  And I like discussing the nuances of religion.  My college roommate, Natasha, and I had some wonderful conversations on the topic, and it was an area we found in common even though our personal lives (and cleanliness habits – sorry Natasha!) were very different.

One thing I have not seen here that I see in America is Islamophobia.  The other day when I was walking to get my lunch I was struck by a few school girls playing, one wearing a hijab and the other two not.   The normalcy of that tableau stood out to me, because perhaps in America that would be more taboo (perhaps depending on where in the country it was).  Here is something to add to the list of things that America could learn from Ghana.  To be clear, I do not want to romanticize or claim that there is zero islamophobia just because I’ve never seen any evidence of it – it just doesn’t seem to be something that is gripping a large part of the population like it does in America.  Perhaps this is in part because I’m living in a metropolitan area, and the rural areas are more prejudiced.   Again, I try to not romanticize, just report what I’ve seen and experienced. 

Walking around market circle, there are people sporadically preaching (very loudly) into speakers at the crowds.  For the most part they are men, though once I saw a woman preacher.   Usually they are preaching in Fante (or another local vernacular), however sometimes they will utter an English phrase such as “praise Jesus!” or something of that ilk.  The message never bothers me – I’ve been to enough Bluegrass Festivals to be desensitized to people preaching in my general direction – it’s the volume that can be somewhat overwhelming.  I don’t want to be rude when I cover my ears, but my hearing is very sensitive and I actively try to keep it that way for as long in my life as possible.  So I feel conflicted, I’m always self-conscious about standing out (especially since I already do as a tall white lady) and don’t want to be perceived as being upset at the message, when really I’m just trying to save my ears from being blasted.  I continue to be hyper-sensitive in terms of trying to not offend anyone.  And no, this isn’t because I am a proponent of “pc-culture” (whatever that is), but because I’m a stranger in a strange land and I don’t want my host country to feel like I’m putting them down in any way. 

Swinging back around to Judaism – I see lots of things that strike me as Jewish but are really Jewish phrases and symbols appropriated by various Christian communities here.  For example, the large Catholic cathedral that my host is a member of has a stained glass window – of a Magen David!!  So perhaps me wearing that symbol (the Star of David btw for those not used to the Hebrew phrase) would not have “outed” me as a Jew!  I also every day to and from work pass a sign for a local religious radio station that has “SHALOM!!” emblazoned on it, which was very jarring the first time I saw it.  Lastly, I see lots of signs using the Hebrew word for Lord (I cannot write it here, because Jews are commanded to not write out any of the names of G-d, and that is something that is very deeply ingrained in me.  So click the link if you want to know specifically what word I’m referencing).  This I find as upsetting, as much as I know that there is certainly no offence meant.  But it’s religious appropriation and not an appropriate word to be on a storefront.  It seems that Christians are fine with “Jesus” being used regularly in signage, but the Jewish names for Lord and G-d should not be, in my opinion.  I mean, I’m not going to go up to anybody and tell them this, I have some sense of tact (I hope!).  But it makes me cringe every time I see it.  I imagine this is what it feels like to Native Americans to see the revelers at Coachella wear sacred headdresses, or how a Hindu person might feel seeing someone appropriate the Bindi.   Jews are people of words, and take the 3^rd commandment very seriously: thou shalt not take the name of the lord in vain.  That kind of appropriation makes me sad every time I see it.  So “Shalom” all you’d like – but please kindly leave the name of my G-d out of your business signs.

I’ve had Paul Simon’s “Under African Skies” from the Graceland album stuck in my head, and it seems a fitting way to end this post ruminating on religion:

Joseph's face was black as night

The pale yellow moon shone in his eyes

His path was marked

By the stars in the Southern Hemisphere

And he walked his days

Under African skies

Random Thoughts

I’m feeling far less homesick today.  I woke up excited to go to work!  Ghana feels less foreign than it did last week.  I’m acclimating! 

Ghanaians like there meat super, duper cooked.  My mother who likes her meat cooked-to-death, would love it.  Me, who is already almost a vegetarian by preference, is less than thrilled. 

Ghanaians also love their carbs!  Since carbs are by far my favorite food group, this pleases me.  I’d much rather have oodles of tasty carbs and some overcooked meat than lots of amazing meat and so-so carbs.  Also, there is no such thing as too many carbs at a Ghanaian meal, so I’m basically just living off of carbs in some kind of tomato based sauce or broth.  It’s delightful.

Also what they call Spaghetti is really angel hair.  And they mix it with the rice and sauce.  Again: no such thing as too many carbs.  Bliss. 

Finally, tomorrow I give a talk during lunch to Hen Mpoano of my experimental design and methodologies.  They will offer critiques and help me change my questions if they are not well suited for the communities I will be interviewing in.  Wish me luck presenting!  And hopefully this means I’ll be back in the field either the end of this or the start of next week! 

America The Powerful

One of the most interesting things I’ve encountered while in Ghana is the perception of America here.  To compare, when I was in Paris, America was seen as a big, boisterous, gauche country.  To be fair, this was in the Bush era so we weren’t looking particularly good to the international community.  When someone heard my American accent, they would say “oh! George W. Bush! Il est terrible!” and I’d have to say “mais non, Je le detest!” to make sure the Parisian knew I was, in fact, not one of the Terrible Americans they had seen in the news. 

Ghanaians see Americans much differently than Parisians did.  I’m not exactly sure what else to call the phenomenon besides powerful: the perception is that America is an incredibly powerful country.  Here are a few examples that have lead me to come to this conclusion:

1.  In downtown Takoradi, there are multiple little booths that are covered in bald eagles and American flags.  The signage advertises a lotto for American visas.  I’m not sure how credible these booths are – perhaps they are a scam.  But they scream the American dream to everyone passing by.  Although growing up the child of an immigrant family (my mom’s side) – as everyone in America basically does – I had an intellectual understanding of the pull of America as the promise land, however I have never felt it as viscerally as I did the first time I saw one of these booths.  And it’s not that the vendors are putting down Ghanaian culture or lives here. It feels as though America is on a pedestal; a light in the dark. 
2. On my cab ride today, the taxi driver had two flags taped to the inside of his cab window (the dashboard and windows of Ghanaian taxies are all very decorated).  One was the Ghanaian flag, and the other, (you guessed it) American. 
3.  Multiple times I’ve seen women wearing headscarves made out of fabric the pattern of the American flag. I’ve never seen headscarves in any other discernable flag pattern.  Certainly don’t see much love for Union Jack!
4. Earlier this week I saw a woman wearing a dress made out of a fabric that featured a painting of Obama.  Ghana is currently in election season, and I don’t know the names of the candidates or the parties they represent or really the slightest thing about them.  And yet, here is a woman in Ghana wearing a dress featuring the American president’s face.  I wish I could have taken a picture (she was too far away and we were in a taxi at the time).  It seems as though Obama’s visit to Ghana had a major impact on the citizenry.  There is no way the Ghanaian president visiting America would have anywhere near the same scope of impact.  I wonder what the emotional repercussions of his visit were for the Ghanaian people – here is the American president, the decedent of West African slaves ripped from their homes, visiting Ghana and making proclamations about how America promises to be friend and support to Ghana and her people.  It moved me so much to see her walking down the street in this dress; I am emotional writing this post.  It reminded me of one time I was at the Ashby Flea Market in Berkeley and I saw an African American woman wearing large earrings with Obama’s face on them (this was around the time of the 2012 election).  I had tears in my eyes looking at her, at the hope this Black president represented to the community that I was (perhaps an ancillary) part of.  This Ghanaian woman, whom I saw for the briefest of moments, moved me the same way.
5.  USAID, or United States Agency for International Development.  Hen Mpoano has worked extensively with USAID in the past, and as such, has many posters and pamphlets with the USAID slogan emblazoned on them: “From the American People.”  But really – how many people in America know what USAID is?  To be perfectly honest, I didn’t know anything about the organization until I started SMEA (and far be it for me to admit to not knowing something, as my ever patient boyfriend and parents can attest to).  The slogan is such an incredible misnomer to me – how can something “be from the American people” if the American people en mass don’t care if it exists or not?  There’s such a false grandiosity about it, and I wonder how much this feeds into the perception of America as powerful.  I wonder if Ghanaians, including my officemates, see that and think that the American People actually care about them.  Because Americans don’t, they don’t care, so many of us can’t even get our asses out of our seats to be upset by the brutal lynching of Black Americans by our racist police forces.  How can Americans care about Ghanaians when somehow “black lives matter” is a controversial statement?  We don’t care about our own Black citizens, how can we as a country care about Africans living in Africa?  The cognitive dissonance astounds me, and frankly, embarrasses me.  If only we were as altruistic as our agencies portray us to be.  If only we were actually as good as the Ghanaian people perceive us to be.  How can we be a city upon a hill when a sociopathic demagogue is running for the highest office? I’m an optimist (you have to be to do this kind of work that I’m doing), and I have hope that someday, American will be worth of the praise I’ve seen her receive while in this beautiful country

Finally, there’s the issue of colonialist conservationism – something the United States and US agencies (World Wild Life Fund comes to mind) has perpetuated for years. Does USAID care about whether it is or isn’t a colonialist force?  There’s certainly positive actions advocated by USAID that are grounded in good science and management, for example, the SFMP (Sustainable Fishery Management Plan) that USAID has drafted for coastal Ghana includes sound science and practices, including making the fishery not open-access, increase net size, and reduce harmful fishing practices such as light fishing.  So these pass the “sniff test” for me, as it were.  I try to be ever aware of my presence as a white woman in a previously colonized country, and hope that my venture of trying to learn, as opposed to trying to impose management techniques, spares me from being a part of colonialist conservationism.  But I don’t want to be defensive if I’m told by someone that my actions are being perceived as colonialist.  It’s a tough pill to swallow (members of my cohort may remember in SMEA 500 how on the last day of class, a non-SMEA student literally yelled at all of us who wanted to do research in foreign countries for being colonialists), but one I cannot balk from if presented with it.  I want to be aware of my own privilege and position as someone from America the Powerful and not abuse it.  

Day 6

This has been a rough 6 days in many ways. I’m trying to keep the blog positive but I’ve been terribly homesick.  I didn’t used to get homesick as a child, but when I went to Israel a few years ago I got my first does of homesickness, which was a major shock to the system.  Thank goodness I experienced that there, because I was able to anticipate the homesickness this time and wasn’t surprised by it.  However, it’s still bumming me out.  I miss my kitties, my partner, my friends, my cohort, my own space that I have control over, and feeling autonomous.  Right now, I’m still too timid to take a taxi by myself.  I suppose I’ll have to get over that this weekend… my hosts are out of town so I have at least 1 night home alone.  The problem is I got so ripped off at the Accra airport that I’ve become very distrustful, both of people who might try to scam me and of myself, the 2^nd of which is the most worrying part.  I don’t trust my own ability to suss out a scam, which I was usually pretty capable of doing in the States (yes spellcheck, “suss” is an actual word, stop telling me it’s not).  As my friends know, I’m not exactly a timid person, so feeling nervous about stuff like this is pretty unlike me.  I feel like I’ve jumped in the deep end and I don’t know how to swim as well as I thought I did.  It’s not that I’m drowning… it’s just that I didn’t expect to be splashing around directionless to such an extent. 

OK enough ruminating on the homesickness. 

Something I’ve often thought while on the roads to and from work is how clearly the nature-culture dichotomy is a Western concept.  Here, there is “indoors” and “outdoors,” but that’s where the distinction ends.  Outdoors, the jungle seems to be in a constant battle to reclaim the land from construction.  The jungle is the city and the city is the jungle.  Large empty billboard spaces line the Sekondi-Takoradi road, the flora filling in the stark empty spaces where signs previously hung.  Trees also line the road at regular intervals, obviously a result of some city planning.  They form a canopy over the large thoroughfare, blocking sunlight from directly touching the road.  Beyond them, more primordial trees give way to palms, grasses, and murky ponds.  The sidewalk is not flat, but forms hills and valleys in response to the tree roots underneath.  There are places of more concentrated urbanity, like the Takoradi market, but once you are out of the more densely inhabited places, the jungle seems a constant background.  Cephas told me that one can’t see the distinction between the cities of Takoradi and Sekondi, but I’ve come to realize that I can’t tell the difference between the city and the jungle.  It all seems as one. 

In discussion with my University of Washington thesis adviser, Eddie, I will likely be visiting a more rural fishing village in order to have a comparison to fish consumption in Sekondi-Takoradi.  I’m interested to see how a “village” differs from this more metropolitan area, as Sekondi-Takoradi doesn’t strike me as very “city-like” by American standards. 

I’ve hit a few snags in my experimental design process, which Eddie reassures me is part of the learning process and is proof of success, not failure.  That was very comforting.  I have some more direction now, and am hoping I can pull together enough of a clear vision to present to Hen Mpoano in the brown bag seminar I’ve been asked to give.  The seminar will be very helpful to me, not only because preparing for it will force me to have my process more down, but because they should have feedback to give me regarding my experimental design, and any further readings they think would be helpful.  However, I’m a little intimidated by the thought of doing a presentation on experimental design, since I am truly such a novice at it.  However, everyone keeps pointing out to me that everyone had to start somewhere, and that no one expects me to have a perfect experimental design right out the gate.  As a perfectionist, this is frustrating because of course I want everything to be perfect.  But this is a chance to flex my adaptability muscles, which is an important life skill, research or no research.  I still think I’m somewhat of a crazy person to do my very first social experiment in a totally foreign country, but hey, I’ve never been one to do something half-assed. 

OK, it’s time for me to return to transcribing my field work recordings.  I have yet to make up my mind as to how much of the field work experiences will go on the blog, or if this will mostly be detailing my non-field work time.  I guess I’ll just have to adapt and find out what works best as I do it… which is basically how I live my entire life here.

To end on a basically unrelated note: I’ve been listening to Sia’s “The Greatest” non-stop for the past two days (except when I’m listening to transcribe, obviously).  The “yeah you can do it!!” message of the song is super helpful to me right now.  

I’m free to be the greatest, I’m alive/oh oh I’ve got stamina/Don’t give up, don’t give up, no no no. 

Picture Dump

So these pictures took me, no joke, about 2.5 hours to get from my phone to my computer to the blog.  For some reason, blogger keeps crashing on my phone when I try to post pictures from it (wtf), and none of the micro USB chargers I brought are conveying data from my phone to my computer  (I had like 10 to choose from, how'd I manage this?).  So these had to be individually emailed to myself then downloaded to my computer then uploaded to the blog.  So enjoy, gosh darn it!

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Fish at the market at Takoradi

I think these are the Sardinella

The view of the road my host family lives on.  This soil is rust colored, not the vibrant, almost blood colored red of some of the other soil I've seen.  

The Atlantic on the West Coast of a continent.... so weird!

Technically this is the Gulf of Guinea and the Southern border of Ghana, for those so geographically or cartographically inclined (as everyone should be because maps are cool gosh darn it!)

Lunch location, first full day in Sekondi-Takoradi.  Apparently this place turns into a full blown club on weekend nights.  On my to-do list for sure!  

Back at the Takoradi Market... she saw me taking pictures and wanted to express her inner model. 

Bringing a friend in for the fun (I managed to throw my camera on the ground right before this picture and was very embarrassed while taking it)

Market at Takoradi

Takoradi Market

Crabs

So much fish!

More fish

Field work.  The woman I'm speaking with is named Adiza, and she served as my interpreter.  She holds a Master's from The University of Rhode Island and has been instrumental in helping me figure out my experimental design.  I am massively grateful! 

Canoes

(I was not allowed to take any of these pictures during field work.  I was informed by another of my Hen Mpoano guides that the people were likely to become suspicious of an intruder taking pictures, so he took them all for me.  I found this out by starting to take pictures and being told "STOP!" which was somewhat alarming.  So the following pictures of field work are credited to Patrick).

Canoes

After reading about the artisanal canoe fishery for so many years, it was sort of breathtaking to see it in real life

These pictures were taken on a Tuesday, which is the traditional day of rest for Fante fishermen.  Otherwise, many more canoes would have been out on the water. These canoes were essentially moored behind the breakwater. 

Adiza and I

Showing me what a "large" bucket of fish looks like.  The amount of fish sold are delineated by the size of the buckets the fit into, not by weight or number of fish.  So different groups told me the amount they received for a "large bucket" vs. "small bucket."  

Ok so not to be that Terrible White Woman who goes to Africa to take pictures with The Poor Children... these kids wanted to take the picture with me and they initiated it, not me (and then the adults joined in).  One of the children in this part of the fish processors area was thrilled to practice his English with me.  The little girl in grey with her hands on her hips (the one stealing the scene) could not stop putting her hands on my knees and smiling at me. I also get called "Obruni" which means "white person" by many of the local children.... this is not an insult, but more of a friendly way of acknowledge you.  When I hear a child call out to me "Obruni! Obruni!" I smile and wave at them, which they usually are thrilled by.