Goin’, Goin’, Ghana

like cyclones, tsunamis, and tundra, the harmattan is a geological and meteorological phenomena unbeknownst to most of us in the u-s-and-a. scholars (read: wikipedia) refer to the harmattan as, “a dry and dusty west african trade wind [that] blows south from the sahara into the gulf of guinea between the end of november and the middle of march.” it’s actually a fascinating phenomenon: over 200 million tons of dust gets swept up from the sahara and make their way to south america. in fact, the harmattan is responsible for quite a bit of the vegetation in the amazon rain-forest, as the dust that doesn’t get dumped on us ends up there.

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i had a chat with my little sister yesterday…

steph: why haven’t you updated?
you have a cult following.
john: really? i had no idea.
steph: you’re like forrest gump when he stops running
and all the ppl are bitter and lost

okay, so it’s been a while since i’ve written in this space. in my defense, i’ve had visitors in ghana for 6 of the last 9 weeks. and when you have visitors here, you’re taking them all around the country at a pretty intense clip and you’re with them 24-7. not a whole lot of time to think, reflect, and write. i had planned on spending the next month or so in deep reflection and solitude in a last ditch attempt to reclaim the monastic, contemplative life i led in my first four months — then, and only then, would i return to this blog.

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the other day, an american awkwardly asked me what i thought separated ghana and malaysia. it was a good question: the two countries have been tied since they both received their independence from british colonial rule at roughly fifty years ago. at the time, their economies were quite similar and both countries were positioning themselves for rapid economic development soon after their independence.

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i mentioned in my last post that some organizations are still working in developing countries to the tune of “do they know it’s christmas?”  i’d like to spotlight one such program that i have personal experience with: operation: christmas child.

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november 25th, 1986 – a day that will live in musical infamy.  it’s the day the atrocious “we are the world” wannabe song “do they know it’s christmas” was recorded.  it was mixed overnight and hit the radio stations on the 29th.  it went straight to #1.

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a few nights ago i was invited to a dinner party hosted by a co-worker.  her three friends from canada were in town, which is cause for another ex-patriot meet and greet.  after we finished eating the dinner (a tasty chicken and rice dish with a side of pringles), one of the more outspoken canadian girls kicked off a discussion by sharing her two-day perspective of africa.  her views, and the requisite rebuttal from a development worker that followed, both made me cringe.

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it’s been two weeks since my last post, which came a full week after the post prior.  this much is made painfully obvious by the dates next to the entries on this page.  but my inability to write is not for my stay being uneventful and mundane, but rather the exact opposite: there’s been a sort of sensory overload, an inability to make meaning of a bizarre sequence of events that have left me in a completely new set of circumstances.  when i first got here, i was able to write about almost anything since i didn’t know anyone and i wasn’t involved in anything; i was merely a detached observer.  it has becoming harder to maintain that posture when i’m getting to know people, becoming more involved, and assimilating further into culture.  but now, my experiences in the past two weeks have so far outstripped my abilities as a writer that i can’t quite write coherently about them – not just yet.

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every cab ride in ghana is an adventure.  cabs here do not have meters as they do in the us; rather, the rider and driver must negotiate the price.  for someone that takes up to four taxi’s a day, this can be really exhausting.

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almost everyday in ghana, we eat rice and chicken that’s imported from the united states.  we eat u.s. rice, despite the fact that ghanians have been farming rice for over 2000 years.  we eat american poultry, despite the abundance of chickens roaming almost every street.

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when i first visited my brother in his college town of decatur, a wealthy suburb of atlanta, i was warned that the south had not progressed as quickly on race issues. and when i arrived, i could immediately tell that blacks and whites were still being segregated by socio-economic class: in every eating establishment we visited, an all-black crew would be serving entirely white patrons (and us).

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