Apples

Using pictures on this site often makes me feel artistic and interesting. However, when the best internet connection I can hope for is pitiful on a good day, it’s just not worth it. I hope you all still find me artistic and interesting with just my unphotographs to look at.

My first day of school. Research Methods. I have three students. I am the youngest person in the room. The oldest is 30 years older than I am. My classroom has no electricity, windows that are missing glass, a broken door knob, rickety old wooden desks and chairs, cobwebs galore, dirty cement floors, and an extraordinarily dirty chalkboard, with hand-made erasers that look as though they have never been cleaned. It is very African. I actually enjoy it. Simple.

For my first class, I wanted to give them a taste of why Research Methods is an important topic for them, and show them some of the things we will be learning. My class is scheduled to meet for three hours, but I planned to let them out after two, since it was the first day. After two hours, I told them they were free to go, but they could stay and ask me any questions if they wanted.

The first question: “Are you married?”

This is a common question for me lately. I proceed to explain that no, I am not, and the ring I wear was a gift from my mother. I had to draw what a typical American engagement ring looks like on the board to explain why people in the US don’t confuse me for a married woman.

After that, all the questions turned political. Since all of you know how very politically minded I am (or am not, as the case may be), you can all guess how much I enjoyed the next hour of questions.

Here is the best part, though. As soon as class actually ended, my youngest student (who is 32, still 10 years older than I am) said he had something to give to me. He opened his bag and pulled out a bushel of bananas. Like the African version of an apple for the teacher. I laughed to myself the whole way home.

This is a picture I did not take of myself, walking through the town square, being followed by a herd of tiny African children in school uniforms, none of whom I know, who giggle every time I make eye contact with them.

Friday

What do these three things have in common?
1. "ef-wa"
2. "ef-fee-ah"
3. "ef-fee"

They are all different tribal ways to pronounce my African name, Afua. Or, Auntie Afua, as I am often called.

What do these three things have in common?
1. April 29, 1983
2. October 24, 1986
3. December 19, 1986

They all fell on a Friday.

In Ghana, everyone has two names - the first is their given name, the second is their "born" name. I am Afua, which means "Friday born." So, when Molly and Lauren arrived this evening, one of the first orders of business was to discover what their African names would be. Lo and behold, we are all Friday born. This could make communication interesting... I am so glad they are here!

This is a picture I did not take of a little girl, no more than three years old, with a solitary braid standing up in homage to Alfalfa, a pink floral dress, and combat boots, sticking her head through the barrier at the airport to smile at me.

Apprentice

Today, on my three week anniversary as a Ghanaian, I went to church in Nima. It is the poorest, and most densely populated area of Accra. Approximately one million of the three million people in Accra live here, and it is considered a Muslim stronghold. I was asked to speak. Everything was translated into three different languages. I love that. It feels like heaven.

These little boys were in charge of the percussion section. (Please note their apprentices.) They played while the people danced and sang. They were spectacular. Maybe if I ask them nicely, they will let me be an apprentice, too.

This is a picture I did not take of two goats, marching back and forth on the steps in front of a vacant building, like the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.