Just Ignorant Outsiders

Back in Indonesia, the haunting beauty call to prayer was my early morning nightmare for five months. I never expected to re-live such here. "I hate that noise," Lydia says. I love the sound but the timing is inescapable: five times a day starting at around 4:30 am. In Indonesia, where the overwhelming majority of the population is Muslim, I doubt anyone would ever admit to hating that sound. But here it's a sacred annoyance for the Christian majority. Of course, everyone here seems to wake up by 5 am prayer or no prayer (Jima was already cleaning the bathroom with another Houseworker, Ima, when the call to prayer proved catalyst for my early morning pee), and the majority and minority seem essentially tolerant of each other, even if they don't work together on spiritual matters.

Our early start did nothing to deter David from planning a full day for us, starting at the University of Accra (Legon), where we met two lecturers and the Dean of Geography, who promptly invited us to give guest lectures on David's word of our talent. We promised to follow up to further discuss what we can (and can't) do, what it is we know about and that much great portion of Ghana that we have yet to understand.

From the university we headed for the hills, where live rich Ghanaians and several African Americans who have come to rediscover their roots by living in isolation. Among the wealthy locals is the former Honourable Minister of Health, Samuel to us, who now imports Scandanevian fish for a living. As the new sedan made its way over bouldered roads to the peak of Ghanaian living, Lydia regaled us with the tale of her three years living in London, which she summed up as "Crazy. I never worked so hard in my life. Everybody there work so hard they have no time for you. I had to change my name to work there. I was Diane Money. Sometimes I'd give my real name and then remember and say, 'oh, but my friends call me Diane'. Then they call me Diane and I say, 'Diane? Who the hell is Diane?' Jesus Christ!" Lydia preferred her high school years in Cuba.

Eventually the sedan gave up the fight and Jima waited with it while David, Miia, Lydia, Isaac and I walked the last 500 metres or so to the Former Minister's house, a large, well-lit marble-and-jade-lined home. David explained that Ghanaian tradition demands all of us to give a self-introduction, explaining our purpose, short and long term goals etc, all very formal. I went first and my attempts at humility were foiled by David's promting: "Didn't you raise $1.5 million there?" "And you worked overseas yes?" Miia proved more successful in explaining that really we are here to learn, and to serve if possible, that we had some successes elsewhere but we are new here, and thus ignorant.

Minister Samual introduced his wife Irene, who is Treasurer of their fish venture, and described some projects he knew of that might interest us in solid waste management before treating our gustatories to the products of his post-governance labours covered in spinach sauce, chased with chilled red wine and white yams, delicious!

A fishy taste stayed with me as we drove back to the city and I watched the billboards go by, warning about AIDS, encouraging parents to make their diasporic children send them money via Western Union, asking me to support Ghanian farmers by buying local rice. Much of the advertising is dominated by NGOs practicing social marketing, and for these and other labours Ghanaians deserve much pride, I felt. Yet we frequently encounter forms of shame, starting that evening when Lydia told us, "The black man is so bad." I, being ignorant, had no idea what to say.