Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Food Rainbow!

The Canadian Food Guide: follow the rainbow and at the end you'll find good health. Coming to Ghana, now, it's striking how great a metaphor this is for good nutrition. You have to be lucky enough to be born in a western country to find this pot of gold with any ease.

For all of us Canadians, it's been engrained in our minds. I never consciously thought about it while making my food choices in Canada, but if I look back I can see that for most of my life I've been meandering down the rainbow road.

Perhaps it's that thoughts of the four food groups still camp out in the backcountry of my consciousness, silently guiding my choices. Maybe I just like diversity and so it all get s represented in my daily regiment. It's also possible that it was my body, not my mind, planting those cravings for yogurt and greek salad after the "occaasional" poutine bendesr.

In any case, the only reason I was even able to do this was because of all the food available in Canada. A simple trip to the grocery store gets me everything from sushi to mini-pizzas, with endless choices in every food group. If I so choose, I can even ditch the decent diet idea and still stay healthy. There are protein supplements,fibre supplements multivitamins, enzymes and bioactives. All this on top of the fact that most of our food products are already enriched with some key vitamin or mineral.

In contrast, the food products people rely on in my district often come directly from the producers or local processers. This means that a person's diet is completely restricted by what is grown in the region and what is in season. Iodized salt (to prevent goiters) is the only widely-used enriched food product I've seen, and it is even relatively new in northern Ghana.

I'm not saying that there's no healthy food here. While mango trees are absolutely everwhere, bananas and plantains have to be transported from the more fertile south. The dry-season farmers produce cabbage, lettuce, tomatoes and watermelon. Many women process peanuts and soybeans, creating opportunity for people to access protein rich foods.

What I am saying is that you have to be far more proactive about your diet in Ghana, and there are challenges to this. Some farming families don't like to buy food from others when they can feed themselves on their own crops. Also, fruits and vegetables seem to be regarded as a treat rather than as a necessity.

The things about a healthy diet in Bunkpurugu is that you have to be proactive. You actually have to seek out the dietary diversity we tend to stumble upon at home. It seems so simple, but the markets are crowded and some people have to walk for miles to get there. When they do they need to barter for nearly everything they buy - including the fruits and vegetables which are expensive than the mystery leaf which seems to have a standard price. Besides this the leafy thing is absolutely everywhere while if you want a banana you have to go early and hunt it down.

I go banana hunting, but that's because I'm trying desperately to stay on my fading rainbow. If I lived in rural Ghana, with and didn't go to school to learn about rainbows ... why would I look for a pot of gold?

Bugs

I have been talking about the rains so much lately. Maybe it's because they seem so fascinating, being remnants of the monsoons I have heard of all my life. It also could be that since I am working with farmers, I may be growing affectionate them as the source of their livelihood. Who knows?

I have finally, however, found my first "bone to pick" with the rains. Bugs ... I hate bugs.

Some bugs breed in the puddles and ponds. Some are forced out of their undergound havens when they fill up with water. Some are attracted by the population explosion of other, more edible, bugs. In any case, the rains have outed them and the bright lights of the compound have led them to me.

It began one night, when I "woke" to a tickle on my inner thigh. Typically this sensation is the work of an ant or a housefly, so I barely bothered to attempt consciousness as I slapped the annoying offender. My entire palm made contact with a spindly mass, flailing against the advance. Had I realized in time, I may have changed my slap to a less destructive flick and avoided disaster. I didn't, though, and the resulting smoosh was epic.

I nearly cried. Now fully aware, I had heard the splash and felt the slimey moisture cover my skin. I aimed my flashlight at the spot, hesitated, then flicked it on. There pasted to my leg was what I can only describe as a daddy-long-legs suffering from elephantitis of the everything. The beast alone would have been gross enough, but unfortunately the egg sack it had been carrying brought me to the edge of vomiting. I cleaned myself off, crawled back in bed, and hoped that this would be an isolated incident.

While that experience remains the most traumatic of my bug-related stories, I actually had to ask my host father to kill one particular wall-spider last night. It was a fast-moving thing, bigger than the last, but significantly more armoured. Its legs were thick and angled forward, and its back reminded me of a beetle. I asked him to do it because it was tinted red, and something in the back of my head tells me colours mean poison. I don't know if this one counts, but I didn't want to chance it. Anyway, despite having taken several blows from a flip-flop, I have reason to believe it is still alive. When I woke this morning, it was perched above my bed - three legs fewer than what it had had the night before. I think it was planning something.

My war with the bugs is not just limited to spiders, though. They have banded together, all over them. Shifting their tactics to more subtle advances, coming smaller and in great numbers. Their spies are everywhere. I even have to purge my clothes of them in the morning before I put them on.

Some are relatively harmless. I could almost get used to them. The grasshoppers climb the walls, comedically jumping out at me from random places. The hit me in the face. They bounce around inside my skirt. They particularly like to land on me when I'm changing or bathing, maximizing the grossed-outedness of the experience.

The beetles and bugs of that sort just crawl around being interesting, though. Some are dark and huge, I imagine they are dung beetles, but I don't know. Others are tiny, failing in their attempt at camouflage ask they crawl across my curtains. The cream-coloured satin providing little refuge for the many dressed as leaves or rocks.

Less harmless are the mosquitos and moth-like things, and finally the fleas. At least I think they're fleas. They're tiny and white, they jump, and I believe they only come in packs of millions. The only thing is that they don't seem to bite - or at least if they do I don't notice. They just jump on me like I'm some sort of giant person-shaped bouncy castle.

The jerks are the only ones who have made it past my mosquito net, invading what I thought was my permethrin-treated fortress of solitude. Maybe they were in the bed when I came, or maybe I carried them in from somewhere else, but however it happened, I have been overtaken. This never happened to superman ...

I couldn't even send a text message last night! Every time the backlight of the phone came on it seems to stir them to rebellion! They would leap to my screen, and though I tried to squish them all it was like playing a level 10592 game of whack-a-mole.

In the end I settled for closing my eyes, lying very still. Either they fell asleep, stopped noticing me, or I stopped noticing them.

Rain

The rain of the last few days has saturated the soil with some much-needed moisture. It is coming more often lately, and with less monsoon-esque rage than the first few I had experienced.

In Momboga, the first rain in nearly a month had crashed into my compound and ripped me from the depths of R.E.M.. The Aluminum roof buckled and roared under the air raid above. Dazed, and still half asleep, I had no idea what was going on. Even when I did come to my senses, I'd have felt more comfortable tenting through a hurricane.

The next one came almost a week later, when I had made it back home to Bunkpurugu. Ghanaian storms are heralded by powerful winds, so when the chairs start blowing around, you know you have about five minutes to put everything away and get inside. Against the oncoming weather, I tied the screen door shut and settled down for the night.

When the third rain came, I was out in the rice fields helping to plant. The morning had been hot, and the sun was beating down on us. It was almost in an instant that the clouds came over and the winds started picking up the dust our of the field. It was fairly far from the town, so the children threw together everything we'd brought and broke into a run. They yelled at me to do the same, so I reluctantly kept up.

In reality, I couldn't wait to be caught in the rain! Through my time here my experience with water of any kind has been limited to bucket showers, PureWater saches, and the sound of the rain on the roof as I slept. Now, I was about to be surrounded.

As the leading front of the storm reached our field, the water misted on wind like an ocean spray. I looked up into the clouds with a smile, wishing I could just plant my feet. I wanted to open my arms and wait for the storm to move over me.

The rain poured out, meaning to wash the earth clean. Looking around I felt as if there were an ocean in the air. The wind tugged at me like the waves, and if I took a deep breath in I would be carried off. An undertow in the the Ghanaian Savannah, where not even the rivers flow wildly.

I would have stopped, but the Ghanaians would have thought I was crazy and the children would have been obliged to wait for me. Plus, as awe-inspiring as lightning is ... it is well-deserved.

Smelliness

I'm not a terribly smelly person in Canada. Deodorant was always more of a habit than a necessity. Oh, there are exceptions of course, like those summer days working in the kitchen at The Lower Deck. But even then if there was a smell of sweat, it was hidden under the litres of grease and condiments I spilled on myself daily.

Apparently being transported from a lovely temperate spring to the tail end of the Ghanaian dry season has put an end to my BO immunity. I've been bathing twice a day, each usually followed three milliseconds of sweatless glory, but this is clearly not enough. By 6:30am, I am again afraid to sit next to people lest I enshroud them in the visible green cloud that must surround me.

Fortunately, as I said, I came in at the tail-end of the dry season and it seems I have made it through. After three weeks or so, I can officially say the rainy season has begun. While there are still often extremely hot days, they are interrupted by amazing rainfalls followed by days full of cool, moist breezes.

Today is one of those days, and I have to smile at the familiarity of the feeling. Very little time in my life has been spent so far from the ocean, and it's hard not to notice that the air is different. Bunkpurugu does not have a permanent water body, and even though the rivers are beginning to fill, they are not exactly the St. John. But you know that smell in the air right after it rains? Well, Ghana has it too.

The wind is blowing in through the window, almost thick as it brushes my arms and cool as I take it in. I've felt this feeling so many times before. It was there while I was sitting on a log outside my tent in Fundy National Park. It was there while I was posing for a picture with Jack Sparrow on the waterfront. It was there in my parents house in July, with all the windows open, getting ready to go down to the concert.

Now it's here in Ghana, while I'm sitting in the office, thinking that maybe I'm not so far away after all.

Smelliness

I'm not a terribly smelly person in Canada. Deodorant was always more of a habit than a necessity. Oh, there are exceptions of course, like those summer days working in the kitchen at The Lower Deck. But even then if there was a smell of sweat, it was hidden under the litres of grease and condiments I spilled on myself daily.

Apparently being transported from a lovely temperate spring to the tail end of the Ghanaian dry season has put an end to my BO immunity. I've been bathing twice a day, each usually followed three milliseconds of sweatless glory, but this is clearly not enough. By 6:30am, I am again afraid to sit next to people lest I enshroud them in the visible green cloud that must surround me.

Fortunately, as I said, I came in at the tail-end of the dry season and it seems I have made it through. After three weeks or so, I can officially say the rainy season has begun. While there are still often extremely hot days, they are interrupted by amazing rainfalls followed by days full of cool, moist breezes.

Today is one of those days, and I have to smile at the familiarity of the feeling. Very little time in my life has been spent so far from the ocean, and it's hard not to notice that the air is different. Bunkpurugu does not have a permanent water body, and even though the rivers are beginning to fill, they are not exactly the St. John. But you know that smell in the air right after it rains? Well, Ghana has it too.

The wind is blowing in through the window, almost thick as it brushes my arms and cool as I take it in. I've felt this feeling so many times before. It was there while I was sitting on a log outside my tent in Fundy National Park. It was there while I was posing for a picture with Jack Sparrow on the waterfront. It was there in my parents house in July, with all the windows open, getting ready to go down to the concert.

Now it's here in Ghana, while I'm sitting in the office, thinking that maybe I'm not so far away after all.

Blog dump!

I've seen no internet in a month. All of these posts were written then and I am just dumping them on all at once! Enjoy!

Tamale:

Akwaaba house had its own unique feel. There was energy and wonder and excitement running through the air. We were on our way to adventure.

After finally reaching Tamale, we settled into our new home for the coming week - the Catholic guest house. To be truly honest I don't get the same sense of spirit out of this place. People come and go, over the cow gate and back again. There are too many causes, experiences and voices and often guest houses are just used as a place to sleep along the way. It's as though this story, so epic to us, is being drowned out by the crowd of sleepers and passers by.

That being said, though. It's a nice place. There's water, most of the time. There is also electricity, most of the time. The ceiling fans help us keep cool when they are working, and (duh duh duhhhn) there are toilets! I don't know whether this happened by chance or if it was deliberate on the part of the APS, but for many volunteers these perks have proved most valuable in the ... ah ... adjusting process.

So far my only bout with sickness was some nausea inspired by the local food, but diarrhea is moving through our group like death in Final Destination. One by one we fall victim. Some go during session, some go while alone at night ... some just go all the time. I know it won't stop until it gets all of us.

I look around our little circle in the gazebo and wonder: Who's next? it's only a matter of time.
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Bussin' to Bunkpurugu:

The bus ride to Bunkpurugu was slightly shorter than the one from Accra to Tamale, but perhaps a little less comfortable. We had to be at the metro mass station around 5am to pick up this tickets, and when we got to the station to reach the bus, it was a total beehive of activity! There were people, buses, and tro-tros everywhere!

The last bus had been gloriously air-conditioned. This one wasn't. And strangely, this didn't actually mean that it was super hot. With the windows open, the bus was actually comfortable compared to the searing heat outside. 'Till today, I hadn't thought this possible without copius amounts of freon.

I hung out the open window trying to take pictures, not thinking of how it hadn't rained in weeks. I also didn't think that the traffic on the long dirt road would kick up the dust, suspending it in the air. The effect was as though they had driven me through a cloud of self-tanner When we arrived, my virgin irish skin was covered in the reddish golden glow of sweat and dirt. It looked as though I'd lived under the Ghanaian sun for years!

Now - bring on the bucket shower.

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Hello MoFA!

Robin and I met the director of the district, and the majority of the staff. Everyone seems very kind and really enthousiastic! I have actually already met two of the extension agents that I will be working with. They came to the Agriculture as a Business workshop during in-country training, and they did very well.

The director is amazing. He's high-capacity, enthousiastic, and open! He even treated us to riceballs, groundnut soup, and guinea fowl. Let me tell you, I love this meal.

The district I am working in is called Bunkpurugu-Yunyoo, and there's really no point it trying to pronounce it without a domonstration. There are five extension agents working in the office, and the director is willing to mandate the program to all of them. I am pretty pumped to get to work, but I will be going to a villiage stay in Momboga for a while before I can get into the swing of things!

I am living in Bunkpurugu town with the coordinator of a local NGO called BLFACU. They focus mainly on literacy and agriculture, with some health-related activities as well. There is electricity (completed with ceiling fan in my room ... ka-ching!), a latrine, and I have even been provided with a bed and a desk.

Everyone I've met has been so wonderfully accomodating, I really think I'm going to like it here.

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Momboga / Kuenkehe-Daen

My villiage stay in Momboga (or Kuenkehe Daen, depending on who you ask) was really nice! It was strange, I found myself doing nothing most of the time, since in the beginning of the stay, it hadn't rained and the farmers were waiting to plant.

There's this local dish called TZ that people make, it's basically just boiled / stirred maize flour and they eat it with stews and soups. This is the staple food of the region, so people some variation for almost every meal.

At first, it doesn't seem all that appetizing. Imagine someone over-cooking Cream of Wheat until it becomes a solid(ish) mass in the bowl. TZ is pretty much that exactly, except it's made with maize flour. You can pull off pieces of it and dip it into the accompanying soup or stew. I know it sounds gross, but in the end it's pretty good.

The thing about TZ is that it's actually a lot of work to cook it, if you're cooking for a family. There are no stoves here, you have to use a pot over coals. The TZ is so thick when it's cooking that you need to step on bars to keep the pot from moving, and it takes a considerable amount of elbow grease to actually do the stirring! I know, because I tried and failed. One day with my host family I will try again, after I get over the embarassment.

I went to get water with Agnes, the first daughter of the family. They gave me the kind of bucket that the little girls carried! I didn't take it on my head, though. I didn't want to waste all the water, given that they worked so hard to get it.

The women pump the water from a borehole down the way, but it's fairly physical. I didn't it for a short while, but the women seemed to not want to let me work so they made me sit back down after only a few seconds.

Like I said, one really wanted me to do any work, and the place I stayed was actually wonderfully outfitted with solar electricity, a guest compound, a latrine, purewater (the bagged clean water for sale in Ghana) and "minerals" (pop). I definitely feel I didn't truly get an experience of poverty. I wonder if closer to the end of my placement, when I've fully adjusted, I should try and go on another villiage stay with another family. I really don't know, but would totally appreciate any input from all you EWBers and past JFs if you're reading!

I did, however, get to experience the culture in depth. There was a funeral going on the day I landed, so everyone from the community had come home! There was drumming and dancing all night long until daybreak! Even through the torrential rain! The funeral was for a previous chief of the villiage and so when I went to the market, the new chief was being introduced to the community! I didn't take any pictures of the funeral because I was a little uncomfortable with it given my own concept of funerals and loss, but it was truly amazing. I met so many people I forget most of them.

I had my first experience with someone asking me to take their children to Canada. She didn't speak english, but someone had translated for me. It was so awkward and I felt so bad. How do you explain to someone why you can't give their child a better life? I don't know. I guess I'll have to learn.

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