Culture Trek

Posts Tagged ‘Village Volunteers’

What I looked forward to most upon my return was writing about my volunteer experience in Ghana, yet it’s been repeatedly forced to the bottom of my to-do list. For now, I offer you this excuse – I mean exercise – in frustration.

I reached home on August 2nd, eager to compile all I had learned and desperate to empower my new Ghanaian friends. To do that would require money. To raise money required awareness. I got right to it and made this video of my time spent with the children at Have’s RC Primary School.

I put this, my first film, together in about three days and downloaded software to convert the file format.

All was going well until…

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July 9th

Straight to Work

I wasn’t expected to do anything other than rest my first day. Instead, I joined a boy named Julius on the well-worn wooden porch bench. Julius was busy with a thin stick applying strong smelling rubber cement from a coffee can to a printed and die cut piece of cardboard. He said he was making bags for tea.

I asked, “Can you teach me how to make these boxes?”

Looking up from his work with a smile and a nod, he appreciated the gentle hint, and agreed to show me. Applying the glue to the cardboard, he taught me to wait until it dried to the right consistency before folding in the edges and forming the box. We then pressed doubly on the glued portion to ensure a good seal. Before stacking the the finished product, I rubbed away the external dried glue to keep one box from sticking to the next. It didn’t take long before we had our rhythm down while working in tandem.

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July 9th

The Welcoming Committee

A young boy about 13 years old ran top speed toward us with sweat pouring down his brow. He introduced himself as Jimmy. I shook his hand and said hello which was followed by his customary “You are welcome!” I introduced my travel mates to him and slowly worked through my own name since Paul, EDYM’s director, mistakenly told people I was called Kimberly. I said with my most gracious smile, “I’m Kim. Just K-I-M.”

“Kem? Ah, Kem! Kem! I see!” He enthusiastically shook my hand again. “You are welcome!”

I would not let Jimmy carry even one of my bags so we all climbed back in the car, Jimmy on Emily’s lap in the front seat. Driving a few hundred feet up the road, Christian parked and unloaded my things. We were met by Emmanuel who I later learned is Jimmy’s uncle and Paul’s brother. A slightly older boy, also named Christian, soon came too. As they all tried to navigate the rocky, uphill footpath, each with my 69.5 lbs (x2) of donations on duffel wheels, I said my goodbyes to the others and caught up.

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Tim, I tried to Skype but you aren’t connected. Web service here is touch and go at best. I’m pasting this from the memory stick… Glad we planned for that. I don’t now when I’ll next be in touch. Cell phone is acquired and I will buy minutes today. I’ll be in touch ASAP and I love you.

I Made It!

As I write, I am in Accra at the home of Gunadiish, the In-Country Coordinator (an all around jovial and hospitable guy). Since he guarantees that I’ll pass out shortly, as most early morning arrivals tend to do, I won’t fight the moment when exhaustion trumps excitement. For now, that hasn’t happened.

How It All Went Down

JFK’s Delta terminal was a madhouse yesterday, teeming with those who were stranded like me the day before. I found my way to the automated check-in kiosk but was told I had to see a ticket agent. That’s when I discovered that Accra has it’s own check-in area, with good reason. The number of bags people were transporting was astounding. One guy was charged nearly $500 with the new fees and he was less than prepared for the big surprise.

Once checked in, I met a family in security. Better stated, they met me. Two young boys going to Ghana had a million questions about where I was going and why. By the end of our conversation, I had been adopted. They were from Long Island so I scored points for having a husband from Brooklyn. When we got to the gate they were sure to tell their mom, “We need four seats, three for us and one for her.” I then heard stories about how their aunt and uncle owned a bank in Accra. “They don’t just work there, they own it. That means we’ll get FREE MONEY when we get there! FREE Money!” I didn’t have the heart to tell them anything different.

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Early Morn

Today felt like most other days. I woke to the whirr of the air conditioner, the 14 year old cat who still wants to suck on my shirt and kneed my fleece, the dog who (once he actually got out of bed) spun in circles to be fed, and my husband, Tim, whose eyes were still no more than slits but whose smile was running at full power.

“It’s Africa Day,” he said.

Then it clicked… and I cried (again) at the thought of not being able to share my amazing experiences with the person I cherish most in the witnessing of each other’s lives…

Up and Running

There was much to do by noon but nothing motivates me more than deadlines and lists. (Deadline dependence is a sickness. Truly it is.)

First up was to print a Dewey Decimal System summary to share with the newly renovated library in Have. Once on the OCLC web site I learned that printing the four volumes of instructions would require packing a tree. Another site said “You can’t learn this in a day.” Really? Holy crow, I would think not. As luck would have it, while saving some teaching documents from the Village Volunteers site, I read that Maia, another volunteer who will be in the village at the same time, currently works with the Montgomery County Public Schools in Maryland as a librarian. Check.

I moved on to collect additional lesson plans at readwritethink.org. (Thanks for the tip Elliot!), and printed copies of my passport, license, credit cards and contact info for Tim. He got the address for the American Embassy and punched holes in my preprinted pages about farming, health, teaching, etc. I ran off photos of him, the pets and our home while he repacked the duffels so I wouldn’t break my back.

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When I first planned to travel to Kenya, I knew what my lodgings looked like, what language was spoken, what weather to expect and what my mission was. I had spent about 8 months doing research on the culture and political climate by reading every blog and book I could find and sitting in on an African Lit class.

Switching gears so quickly after Kenya’s outbreak of post-election violence, I had little lead time to research Ghana well. I didn’t even know the name of the village I would reside in until my invoice came three weeks ago. It’s absolutely my own fault. I had been so distracted by finals, graduation, time sensitive home improvement projects and family responsibilities that I failed to address what this shift in plans meant. It was time to get a serious move on.

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Mere moments ago I received the following news:

With the continued unrest in Kenya, Village Volunteers finds it necessary to cancel the Kenya program for the remainder of 2008. If you would like to volunteer with one of our other programs in Ghana, India or Nepal or if you would like to postpone your trip, please contact our office.

I’ve known all along that this decision would have to be made for me, having refused to consider alternatives in the name of hope. Now that the choice is out of my hands, I feel oddly numb.

Village Volunteers has officially suspended their volunteer program through February, and cannot guarantee volunteer placement in Kenya for future months.

While it is our hope that peace will be restored soon, we are committed to the safety of our volunteers and will not be able to resume our program in Kenya until we can be assured that all volunteers will be safe.

Safety seems a distant dream. AlJazeera’s video today illustrates a situation so far removed from safe that, from where I sit, only the escalation of crimes against humanity is plainly evident. I cannot fathom how, in interviews, angry mobs can speak of rights to land, land that has been stolen but cannot feel physical and emotional pain, and at the same time they steal the rights of human beings who have an enormous capacity for pain when limb is severed from body, father from mother, parents from children, life from death – forever. The land will remain, but it will be indelibly stained with the blood of the murdered and wounded.

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Twice yesterday I heard it voiced that I will likely have to change my volunteer trip from Kenya to Ghana in July. While it might well be true, I continue to reject lost hope for the success of Kenya to soon arrive on the other side of chaos.

When I last spoke with Village Volunteers executive director, Shana Greene, we gracefully wove the rhetoric of possibility into a conversation filled with concern. On 14 Jan 2008, two volunteers decided to stay behind while the rest had been transported safely to the airport with the help of the village coordinators and hired police guards. Understandably, Village Volunteers cannot send people to the Rift Valley if the violence continues, but Shana reassured me that we still have time before making a solid decision and that continuing VV’s sustainable programs was of the utmost importance for the re-stabilization of the village. The decision to send more volunteers would likely hinge on either a re-election or the formation of unity government. Then, two days after we spoke, Kenyan protests began and more violence broke out for another three days.

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“KENYA IS MINE” is the latest motto for Kevin Sudi. Kevin first introduced himself to me after I had posted to the Facebook Village Volunteers’ group about my pending trip to Kenya. He has been instrumental in working with the Common Ground Program and as part of Village Volunteers. He works at a local level:

mainly with widows, teaching them organic farming, HIV/AIDS awareness and positive living, micro finance, entrepreneurship, nature conservation, and we also have a primary school catering majorly for orphans and other vulnerable children.

It is because of our communication that I chose to join forces with the Common Ground Program.

I recently wrote asking where Kevin was, what has happened to Common Ground, and what he thought might come next. My guess is that I was just one of many who had bombarded him with these questions. His reply was an informal mass email written with anger, disallusionment and, most importantly, a passionate sense of national pride and determination:

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