Editorial/Front Page: Accra Is Dying
And our lesson of the week is that sensational headlines sell. We've been using them all week, coupled with rather non-sensational stories, and sales are soaring. There's nothing inherently wrong with this article, which I wrote with some injections by Bossman, but my accompanying and much more progressive article about cycling was cut. Hopefully it will run next week along with some other alternative transportation pieces.
Friday, February 23, 2007
The Sting
The megalomaniacal managing editor gave more than the obligitory second chances to the blind proofreader, but the latter simply couldn't kick his habit. Perhaps the final straw should have been when the editor sent his proofreader on a drug buy/sting, a high-level high-risk expose to show how high on the hierarchy the dealer resides. It made so much sense to the editor to send a drug addict on this errand that he sent two: the proofreader and a reporter, both of whom had recently kicked.
"It gave the operation more authenticity," the editor would later bemoan. "We figured that they would know how to make a buy."
Perhaps they knew all too well; they came home in a profusely sweating mess two weeks later with no money, no drugs, and no story.
But that wasn't the final straw; the blind proofreader still rambles through the hallowed halls of nationalist journalism spewing one-liners at a mile-a-minute, sweating like banshees had ransacked his pituitary glands all night, cracking up the graffic designers. "Do you still work for me?" the editor sometimes asks. "I haven't seen you and I never know where you are. Are you sure you work for me?"
The proofreader smiles and reassures him,"Yes yes Sir, I've been recovering from illness but I am still at your service, one hundred percent ready to follow all orders and reflect your own opinions back to you."
"It gave the operation more authenticity," the editor would later bemoan. "We figured that they would know how to make a buy."
Perhaps they knew all too well; they came home in a profusely sweating mess two weeks later with no money, no drugs, and no story.
But that wasn't the final straw; the blind proofreader still rambles through the hallowed halls of nationalist journalism spewing one-liners at a mile-a-minute, sweating like banshees had ransacked his pituitary glands all night, cracking up the graffic designers. "Do you still work for me?" the editor sometimes asks. "I haven't seen you and I never know where you are. Are you sure you work for me?"
The proofreader smiles and reassures him,"Yes yes Sir, I've been recovering from illness but I am still at your service, one hundred percent ready to follow all orders and reflect your own opinions back to you."
It Pours
Like so many other things, life's tendency to ebb and spurt is magnified here. I spend some days on the phone listening to busy signals, cut signals, no answer signals, and not interested signals from interview prospects. Yesterday I wrote three articles and today I interviewed two people, both in a half-assed manner. Some days my name doesn't appear in the paper, other times a backlog of Benjamin originals cover the pages. Today I wrote the editorial/front-page story, which really shouldn't be the same thing but it never hurt the National Post. Ok maybe it did.
The first interview I did today was with Miia's boss on the 'orphan' project, which is really an orphan prevention thing, addressing the situations that create orphans before it happens. She's a character, perhaps the yang to Bossman's ying. 'They're' looking for someone to write a book about her/the orphan prevention project. It's a story rife with death threats, international high fashion, and victimized children, so if well -written it should be a best seller. "It's too bad you're leaving," she said.
"I could write that from home."
"Not really. We need someone not too sentimental."
"Oh he's not that," Miia added helpfully.
"Too bad you're leaving. We need someone who can incporate all the challenges, the hardships, without making another 'poor Africa' story."
Damn that's my specialty! But do I really want to write an authorized biography for a former Vogue writer? Will I not essentially become an anonymous stenographer? Still, given her connections with the publishing industry (she published those 20 books on interior design), it's guaranteed to get published. And it would pay, and it IS an interesting story.
"Too bad you're leaving." Yeah. You gotta hand it to Ghana, it contains the most interesting people.
********************************************************************************
The second meeting was also courtesy of Miia, with some Liberian refugees who run an NGO in the refugee settlement near Accra, which is apparently a model of excellence, free, open and better than the typical morbid 'camp' you read about in National Geographic. Many of the people there feel as Ghanaian as Liberian, having been there so long and still being afraid to return home in case the tenuous peace unmasks turbulent violence once again.
Anyway, they offered Miia a six-month volunteer placement including free accomodation, food, and a transporation stipend. This is somewhat akin to the common practice here of paying a very low salary but compensating with housing, food, transportation and such necessities, meaning the salary is all banked. Only in this case there's nothing to bank. Still, it wouldn't put us in the poorhouse.
"Too bad you're leaving."
The first interview I did today was with Miia's boss on the 'orphan' project, which is really an orphan prevention thing, addressing the situations that create orphans before it happens. She's a character, perhaps the yang to Bossman's ying. 'They're' looking for someone to write a book about her/the orphan prevention project. It's a story rife with death threats, international high fashion, and victimized children, so if well -written it should be a best seller. "It's too bad you're leaving," she said.
"I could write that from home."
"Not really. We need someone not too sentimental."
"Oh he's not that," Miia added helpfully.
"Too bad you're leaving. We need someone who can incporate all the challenges, the hardships, without making another 'poor Africa' story."
Damn that's my specialty! But do I really want to write an authorized biography for a former Vogue writer? Will I not essentially become an anonymous stenographer? Still, given her connections with the publishing industry (she published those 20 books on interior design), it's guaranteed to get published. And it would pay, and it IS an interesting story.
"Too bad you're leaving." Yeah. You gotta hand it to Ghana, it contains the most interesting people.
********************************************************************************
The second meeting was also courtesy of Miia, with some Liberian refugees who run an NGO in the refugee settlement near Accra, which is apparently a model of excellence, free, open and better than the typical morbid 'camp' you read about in National Geographic. Many of the people there feel as Ghanaian as Liberian, having been there so long and still being afraid to return home in case the tenuous peace unmasks turbulent violence once again.
Anyway, they offered Miia a six-month volunteer placement including free accomodation, food, and a transporation stipend. This is somewhat akin to the common practice here of paying a very low salary but compensating with housing, food, transportation and such necessities, meaning the salary is all banked. Only in this case there's nothing to bank. Still, it wouldn't put us in the poorhouse.
"Too bad you're leaving."
Thursday, February 22, 2007
More Schools
1. BB & students, 2. M leading a game of British Bulldog, 3. Cleanup time, part of lunch everyday, 4. The whole school
Japanese Schools
1. The tallest, palest, student, 2. Head of the Class, 3. Double Dutch time, 4. She knows she's cute
Things Japanese
1. BB and GF singing keroake; 2. these girls are dressed like their favourite anime characters.
Hiroshima War Memorial
1. A-bomb dome, the most intact surviving building from before the bomb, 2. paper peace cranes made by children around the world, 3. the memorial museum
Fried the Way You Like It
damn I forget what this food is called, but it's basically like a crepe fried up with veggies and meats and cheese of your choice before your eyes (and on your table), delicious, fun and filling.
Bread
1. National Cultural Day 'Bread-Head' parade by school-children (BreadHead is a much-loved children's character); 2. Hiroshima streetscape
Japanese Cultural Day
The day after we arrived in Japan was a national holiday: Cultural Day. Just down the road from Big Bro's was this production featuring a child-eating snake. The children happily fought back with water pistols and sqeals.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Iwakuni Japan
1. Big Brother's deck 2. Japanese philosophy in the capitalist era, 3. Japanese grocery (in the captialist era)
Boat Friends
This is Kim and Stillman, two fantastic Swedes we met on the boat from Shanghai to Osaka. They are doing this Swedish thing where you can take a year off from your job and someone who is un or underemployed takes over to get experience. When you return, you get your job back! They were loads of fun, and kept Miia good company while I slept (and bathed, in a big clean hot Japanese tub) off my Shanghai food poisoning.
Friday, February 16, 2007
What gets me boiling
I'm on this project doing a program audit for an NGO that works with underprivileged kids and orphans. Some might think that would encompass like all of Ghana's kids but alas, some are still much worse off than others.
My job is to go around with the education coordinator and driver in the NGO truck all around Ghana interviewing kids, teachers, principals.
Today we pulled into one spot and the driver turned off the engine. Sitting in the backseat, I noticed how one, two, three, more and more kids started appearing in the doorway in front of us. Not an unusual sight. These were all boys and all around 13-16 years old. Then I noticed it. The lock. The bars. They were all locked into one room. About 25 of them. They are so-called juvenile offenders awaiting their day in court. The cops are trying to track down their families so that they take responsibility. Sometimes the kids are intentionally leading them astray because they don't want to be rejoined with their families. After all, it's because of them that they are often on the streets.
I shudder when I see kids locked up. No matter the accusation - thievery most often - I cannot wrap my brain around what logic there is to take a young man and put him in a room with 24 of his peers and have them rot there. There is nothing to me that says there is a future here other than more of the same. The sight of them, like puppies at the pound, pushing their faces up against the bars is absolutely horrendous. I tremble as I write this.
Not long after, we have an errand to run and bring some files off the data stick to a woman who volunteers for the organization. We are driving in a pretty ritzy neighbourhood, large gated houses. We pass by the Ernst and Young offices - shiny, immaculate, beautiful. Across the road is the gate to where we're going, guarded by a paid guard. With the right OK, he opens the door. We drive through a picture of PleasantVille - manicured lawns, interlock driveways, big shiny 4x4s in the driveways. These are the residences for the foreign Ernst and Young staff. In the pool, yes pool, there are a bunch of boys about the same age as the ones in the cage. A white girl about the same age lounges on a chair bored. Everything pristine, air conditioned mansions.
Call me a lefty pinko bleeding heart idealist naive child. I don't care. There is no way these kids are living in a just world and there's no way there'll be peace when this inequality continues.
The starkness of it is more than painful.
My job is to go around with the education coordinator and driver in the NGO truck all around Ghana interviewing kids, teachers, principals.
Today we pulled into one spot and the driver turned off the engine. Sitting in the backseat, I noticed how one, two, three, more and more kids started appearing in the doorway in front of us. Not an unusual sight. These were all boys and all around 13-16 years old. Then I noticed it. The lock. The bars. They were all locked into one room. About 25 of them. They are so-called juvenile offenders awaiting their day in court. The cops are trying to track down their families so that they take responsibility. Sometimes the kids are intentionally leading them astray because they don't want to be rejoined with their families. After all, it's because of them that they are often on the streets.
I shudder when I see kids locked up. No matter the accusation - thievery most often - I cannot wrap my brain around what logic there is to take a young man and put him in a room with 24 of his peers and have them rot there. There is nothing to me that says there is a future here other than more of the same. The sight of them, like puppies at the pound, pushing their faces up against the bars is absolutely horrendous. I tremble as I write this.
Not long after, we have an errand to run and bring some files off the data stick to a woman who volunteers for the organization. We are driving in a pretty ritzy neighbourhood, large gated houses. We pass by the Ernst and Young offices - shiny, immaculate, beautiful. Across the road is the gate to where we're going, guarded by a paid guard. With the right OK, he opens the door. We drive through a picture of PleasantVille - manicured lawns, interlock driveways, big shiny 4x4s in the driveways. These are the residences for the foreign Ernst and Young staff. In the pool, yes pool, there are a bunch of boys about the same age as the ones in the cage. A white girl about the same age lounges on a chair bored. Everything pristine, air conditioned mansions.
Call me a lefty pinko bleeding heart idealist naive child. I don't care. There is no way these kids are living in a just world and there's no way there'll be peace when this inequality continues.
The starkness of it is more than painful.
Shanghai Goodbye
I spent my two days in Shanghai in a hotel room, sick like two dogs in the tropical night. So, this is the only decent picture I took of it. Seems like it could have been a good place under different circumstances.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
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