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. 

Post-1st day of field work

I've decided that 1 hour of field work = an extra hour of sleep needed that night.  I am exhausted.

Pre-1st Day of Field Work

Today I go out into the field to test my skills at semi-structured interviews using feminist methodologies.  Yesterday I learned that I will, in fact, need an interpreter for many of my interviews.  Which means I will not be going out into the field alone.  And, because of the focus on women subjects and feminist methodologies my interpreter will also be female.  This is all very relieving to  me, because the primary mode of transportation here is via cab, and so far I haven't heard any of the cab drivers speak English (I assume they do, at least enough to get me around, but I still haven't tried it yet).   So I'm not exactly sure how to tell cab drivers where to take me.  Overcoming that "barrier to access" is one of my goals for this week.  I also want to be able to walk around Market Circle alone without being completely overwhelmed.

Hopefully after today I'll have a better sense of what needs to be modified about my interview process.  I am sure that I don't exactly have it down exactly, but I won't know what needs to be changed until I've actually attempted to interview a few subjects.  I will be heading into the fishing community of New Takoradi.  Stephen seems to think that me focusing on head female fish mongers (Konkohenes, in Fante), as opposed to fishermen, will work well - again because of the feminist methods I will be employing.  Thank you Professor Marc Miller for insisting I have a solid methodological background before going into the field - otherwise I'd feel even more lost!

Wish me luck, faithful readers!

First Day in Sekondi-Takoradi

So today I try my hand in blogging.  I’m sitting in my hosts’ living room, watching The Food Network, which feels very familiar.  It’s 8 AM and already very humid.  My hair is already dripping wet.  Perhaps I should have taken a shower this morning.  The shower is only cold water, which I never thought I’d say I’m fine with, but in the heat, there’s no need for a hot shower.  The shower I took last night was very invigorating. 

My doxycycline alarm just went off so I took my daily anti-malaria medication, however stupidly I took it on an empty stomach.  Now I’m fighting nausea and eating some bread and jam. The loaf bread is different here, sweeter and very soft. 

My flights were long and miserable.  I waited for 7 hours in the waiting room in the Accra airport, which felt like forever on these terribly uncomfortable seats.  I don’t really want to re-count the experience because it was exhausting. 

The Ghanaian accent is a bit difficult for me to understand.  When my host speaks to his girlfriend quickly, I can’t totally follow.  When someone talks directly to me I can lip read a little bit and I’m basically able to understand, but if I can’t look at the person talking, it’s more difficult. 

This weekend I’m hoping to explore Sekdondi-Takoradi.  I suppose I should take this time to explain the city I’m staying in.  The NGO I’m working for, Hen Mpoano, is located in Takoradi, however the home I’m staying in is in Sekondi.  Although they are technically different cities, according to Cephas, my host, “You can’t see the divide between the two, you wouldn’t know its two cities.”  I asked if “Sekondi” means “second,” because it certainly sounds like it.  This amused my hosts, who explained that Sekondi is actually the elder of the two cities, and still the seat of power in the Western Region.  However, at one point the rail system collapsed and Sekondi began to whither, and Takoradi became more of the metropolis.  Even though Takoradi is the larger city, the administrative buildings for Western Region are still located in Sekondi. 

Flying into Seknodi-Takoradi, I was fascinated by the way the city unfolds into the jungle.  From above, there are large swaths of green jungle, and patches of housing areas, not in any sort of grid, which are lined with roads of the bright red Ghanaian soil.  In the Accra airport, I was amazed at how red the soil is.  You see it in pictures but honestly nothing does it justice.  It’s amazing and vibrant.  Leaving the airport, Cephas asked me if I’ve ever been in the tropics before, and that was the first time I actually realized that I’ll be staying in “The Tropics.”  Months and months of planning and that didn’t dawn on me!  From the large (screened-in, of course) back yard balcony, I can see jungle.  From the quiet bathroom in the middle of the night, I could hear sounds from the jungle, bugs and frogs going about their nightly rituals.  On the drive from the Takoradi airport (the smallest airport I’ve ever seen, pictures to come) we went from a very busy, vibrant market place to a jungle lined road to the area where the house I’m staying at is. 

Well that’s it for now.  I’m nervous about my first day at Hen Mpoano, I hope I don’t disappoint them!  Luckily I have two days between now and then, and hopefully I can get over my jet lag and get my normal apatite back from them.

Final note: I’ve learned that Ghanaians say “take” to mean “consume.”  “Do you take coffee in the morning?” I was asked.  “We take a large lunch and a light dinner,” and “do you take beer?” are things that have been said.  I’m still a little thrown by this language quirk, but I’m sure I’ll become acclimated.