My favourite questions that I have been asked in Ghana and the answers I gave:
Q: What is malaria like?
A: The flu. Headache, sore throat, body aches, extreme tiredness, fever, hot and cold flashes. (I recovered in a little less than a week)
Q: Why did you make us slaves?
A: Although I did not make anyone a slave, I think it was just because the people at the time could do it, so they did. It was a profitable business. Maybe they saw Africans as a lesser being because of their skin color and the way they chose to live. (This was my first week here; welcome to Ghana)
Q: Isn't Julian a girls name?
A: No. (No one here has heard the name Julian before except the Ivorians because they speak French.)
Q: Condoms really ruin the experience of sex for me, as soon as I see one in the bedroom, I'm just not interested anymore. What should I do?
A: I'm not going to be there at the moment so I can't tell you what to do. They make a lot of different condoms, maybe try another type. If none of them work, try to use other methods to prevent pregnancy and spread of disease. (During my AIDS/HIV community outreach)
Q: Have you ever eaten dog?
A: No. (and still no.)
Q: I know that giving a girl oral sex can give her lots of pleasure, but I know diseases can be spread that way. Would you give any girl oral sex if you are going to have sex with her?
A: Wait until you are in a relationship with a girl first. You should probably know her fairly well and know whether she has any STD's. Also if you are in a relationship or in love, that just gives you all the more reason to want to give her pleasure, and that makes the experience fun for you too. (This was followed by a discussion on American sexual culture versus African sexual culture. It was really enlightening.)
Q: What if you are in a relationship and the person loves you, but you don't love them back?
A: I don't think it works that. I think you both have to love eachother. (5 minutes later..."I love you, Julian.")
Q: What is the food like?
A: Rice and stew. Cabbage stew, pepper stew, groundnut stew, stewed potato greens. (I eat anywhere from 2-5 cups of cooked rice a day. If I don't eat any rice, I don't feel full.)
Q: Are you losing weight?
A: Yes, but I eat about twice as much as I did in the US. (I like to run in the mornings or play soccer. Also, walking is the main mode of transportation here. My guess is that I walk 4-8 miles a day in addition to any distance that I run.)
Q: What is the first thing you will eat when you get back?
A: A cheeseburger, then sushi. Really good sushi.
Q: Do you get homesick?
A: I haven't yet. I expected to be when I had malaria. When I travel I always feel homesick when I'm extremely tired or sick. (I do on occasion get overwhelmed with emotion. There are few people here who I consider close friends, and there are even fewer that I would talk about my emotions with. I sometimes tear up when I'm telling other volunteers outside the camp about the lives of some of my friends on camp. That's about as close as I've gotten to homesick)
Q: Do you miss home?
A: I miss my family and friends. I miss seeing familiar faces and getting hugs from people I know. I miss talking with people who have grown up in a similar situation to myself. (Sometimes I really just want to have someone here who can see the camp through the same eyes that I see it. The other night the moon was really full and bright and beautiful and all I wanted was for someone I knew to be here to stare at the sky with me.)
If you have more questions, please post them on the blog wall and I will answer them. Thanks for all of the good questions so far!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Trapped, Stuck, or Home-Buduburam Refugee Camp, Ghana
"So, if the war in Liberia is over, why are there still 10,000 refugees in Ghana?"
Buduburam refugee camp was once home to about 40,000 Liberians that fled during the war years, 1991-2003. It is now home to about 10,000 Liberian refugees and some Ghanaians and Ivorians. Many of the refugees have no means of getting home, some that have the means to get home cannot leave, and others feel that Buduburam is their home.
Trapped
When the refugees arrived in Ghana, they were issued refugee ID cards by the United Nations (UN). These cards ensured that the refugees would have a paid passage back to Liberia when the war ended. Children under 5 were not given cards because it was assumed that the parents could carry them during the journey; those children are now 25. Others were not given cards because they never registered or they came after the time that the UN was registering asylum seekers.Those without their card and without money to make their way back are now trapped.
Stuck
Some refugees in the camp have the means to make the journey to Liberia with their family, but they choose to stay. They have the means because they are educated and have a job, maybe as a teacher. They either have the money or they have their ID card. But what would happen if all of the teachers left the schools and returned to Liberia? What would happen if all of the educated community members and skilled laborers left the camp? If those that lead the community returned to Liberia, they would leave behind a shattered community. They are stuck.
Home
Some refugees don't want to leave because they see Buduburam as their home. Many children came here when they were too young to remember Liberia; thousands of others were born on camp. Although their lives here have not been easy, they have still grown to know Ghana as their home. They know the camp and how it works. They know how to ask volunteers for money; they know how to survive. Why would they leave the world as they know it for the uncertainty of Liberia? The cruel realities and harsh living conditions of Buduburam are their home.
Thanks to everyone who has reached out to me to offer me support while I'm here. I've almost fully recovered from malaria and have started running again.
Friday, June 3, 2011
The Day I Broke- Buduburam Refugee Camp, Ghana
I woke up this morning with a plan in my head to write a post to teach about language and culture here on camp. At 2:00 today that plan was shattered by a life changing moment.
Everyday in Buduburam, I have gotten multiple requests, some for food, some for money some for marriage. Everyday there has been an endless line of people at my door, asking to be my friend and asking for a little something to eat or asking for some money for water. It is left up the the international volunteer community to break the dependence of refugees on volunteers for donations. This is accomplished by funding sustainable businesses for the refugees and providing business planning and support.
With this in mind I have turned away many requests for money, suggesting they use the skills that they have told me about to apply for jobs and find work. Every day I have to look someone in the eye and tell them that I can't give them what they want and that there is too much need and not enough support. Today at 2:00 I broke and couldn't say no.
Grace invited me into her home and sat me down in a chair. Her child Blessing lay on the cement floor sweating and crying; her other child Favor toddled naked through the one room house.
Grace placed my hand on Blessings forehead. "She is burning; she has malaria and I have no money for the medicine. The children have not even had a bath today. We have no water. I can't even give my child a bath to wipe the sweat off and cool her fever." One tear rolled down Grace's cheek, then another from the other eye. "I can't buy them food; I don't even have ten cents to buy a gallon of water to wash Blessing." Tears rolled down her face, and she wiped them away in embarrassment.
My stomach lurched and knotted, and my eyes felt hot as they wetted with the tears that I held back. I thought about how full my stomach was after breakfast. I thought of the food waiting for me at home. I thought about how every other request for money or food had been from a smiling Liberian, but this one had come from a mother ashamed that she could not provide for her two children. I felt sick. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt ashamed for every bit of food and money I had ever wasted.
The full truth of the camp hit me hard:
She had nothing in her name; she lived in a rented house; her previous business had failed; she had five cents in hand and nothing else. She lives in a community toxic to her children's well-being. She lives in a community so saturated with supply that there is no money to be made by businesses. She, her children, and the 10,000 other refugees in Ghana are growing up in a community that holds no future, no chance for advancement, and few escapes to success. She and many others are trapped here; they are unable to afford the trip home to Liberia and unable to survive in Ghana. Many children were born into this camp with nothing, and many will die here with nothing.
Everyday in Buduburam, I have gotten multiple requests, some for food, some for money some for marriage. Everyday there has been an endless line of people at my door, asking to be my friend and asking for a little something to eat or asking for some money for water. It is left up the the international volunteer community to break the dependence of refugees on volunteers for donations. This is accomplished by funding sustainable businesses for the refugees and providing business planning and support.
With this in mind I have turned away many requests for money, suggesting they use the skills that they have told me about to apply for jobs and find work. Every day I have to look someone in the eye and tell them that I can't give them what they want and that there is too much need and not enough support. Today at 2:00 I broke and couldn't say no.
Grace invited me into her home and sat me down in a chair. Her child Blessing lay on the cement floor sweating and crying; her other child Favor toddled naked through the one room house.
Grace placed my hand on Blessings forehead. "She is burning; she has malaria and I have no money for the medicine. The children have not even had a bath today. We have no water. I can't even give my child a bath to wipe the sweat off and cool her fever." One tear rolled down Grace's cheek, then another from the other eye. "I can't buy them food; I don't even have ten cents to buy a gallon of water to wash Blessing." Tears rolled down her face, and she wiped them away in embarrassment.
My stomach lurched and knotted, and my eyes felt hot as they wetted with the tears that I held back. I thought about how full my stomach was after breakfast. I thought of the food waiting for me at home. I thought about how every other request for money or food had been from a smiling Liberian, but this one had come from a mother ashamed that she could not provide for her two children. I felt sick. I felt ashamed of myself. I felt ashamed for every bit of food and money I had ever wasted.
The full truth of the camp hit me hard:
She had nothing in her name; she lived in a rented house; her previous business had failed; she had five cents in hand and nothing else. She lives in a community toxic to her children's well-being. She lives in a community so saturated with supply that there is no money to be made by businesses. She, her children, and the 10,000 other refugees in Ghana are growing up in a community that holds no future, no chance for advancement, and few escapes to success. She and many others are trapped here; they are unable to afford the trip home to Liberia and unable to survive in Ghana. Many children were born into this camp with nothing, and many will die here with nothing.
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