Happy birthday, Katie!
Peter, Grace, and I left for Buduburam just past 9 and arrived around 10:45. En route, our driver Samuel (pronounced Samwell) thought a bus would let him out. It didn’t, and we had our front bumper scraped. Many of the roads are dirt and deeply rutted, others are a combination of dirt and broken pavement, and where the pavement is good, drivers fly. The roads are narrow, and I am reminded of what a Roman cab driver once said to me: “A millimeter is enough.” Indeed, that’s about all that vehicles here get.
Open markets and people carrying tall heavy wares on their heads are everywhere along the roads. I wonder how so many of them manage to sell enough. EVERYTHING is named after God: God’s Mercy Beauty Salon, Paradise Keys made here, Jesus Saves Used Vehicles, God is Great Fast Foods, In God We Trust Quality Sandals, Guinness/Father Forgive Them. My favorite so far is “Blessed Driving School.” One can only hope.
I will admit my heart skipped a beat when we pulled into the camp. I had to mentally punch myself and say, What did you expect? The Hilton? Grace noticed obituary and arrangement notices taped to the concrete walls. I’ve been told there is no day you are more famous than the day of your funeral. It takes up a whole weekend. You can tell the women going to funerals by their black and white dresses.
[NOTE: All names of camp residents are psyeudonyms.]
We were met by the Ghana government camp manager, a very nice man named Dzifa. We were joined by the Buduburam Refugee Community Secondary School principal, Kojo of the Carolyn Miller Elementary School, the chief security officer Elolo, chief social work counselor, and Serwa, the teacher I am staying with. I got so much information this afternoon that I am having difficulty remembering it all. Dzifa said a great deal about the camp and his opinion about problems resulting from UNHCR management. He said that very few have been resettled from there, and in 2007, the UN left the camp in hopes of pressuring the residents to repatriate to Liberia. But the package they offer to return is only transportation and $100 USD. That’s it; then you’re on your own. They are trying to work out a reintegration package into Ghana, but he does not expect it to be sufficient. He felt that if the UNHCR had put the money into repatriation that they put into building and sustaining the camp, everyone would have returned. On the other hand, there are children who were born in the camp and whose parents have died. They have no connections to Liberia. The camp was opened 20 years ago. He said that many of the people still believe they will be resettled if they wait long enough, and they believe that America is like a paradise. I could understand that – the worst conditions I can think of in the U.S. are better than some I saw in the camp today. Then again, here they are familiar with the culture and customs, they have one another, and though their shelter may be in a metal shed on dirt, they are not homeless.
When Serwa arrived, we went to her house to deposit my belongings. She and her husband Abeeku live off the camp. Their home is nice by Ghana standards. The floor is concrete, but they have electricity and a shower and toilet. The neighborhood is off on deeply rutted dirt roads, and the air is strong of goat scent. They have a fan they are using to keep me cool, and they are very kind.
We went back to the camp office, and Peter and Grace left. I went on with Kojo, Serwa, another administrator for the Miller School, and the HS principal, Kofi. We stopped first at the high school. The rooms are small, and there are only some desks and a blackboard. They teach computer science, but the school only has one computer that is used in the office, no internet. The principal has a proposal for bringing in computers. His students pay 55-70 cedi’s/year to attend (70 is about $50 US).
Then we went to the Carolyn Miller School. Also poor, it has a small library and a computer room with five working old computers and internet service. Kofi told me stories of finding various benefactors that helped build the school and equip it. He used to have a high school there but had to close it down after 2007.
Serwa’s school is a new building built by the UN. The children do not have to pay tuition. The rooms are small but new and nice. Her kindergarten room was loaded with books and supplies (something I did not see in the other schools).
After, Kofi came with Serwa and I to her house. First, though, we stopped at the market. I was the only white face in the sea of throngs of black people. The smells and the ground and the sights in the market were a bit overwhelming for me, this privileged white woman used to refrigerated meats and produce in an air-conditioned grocery store.
There were piles of dried or smoked fish in the hot, open air. Serwa stopped to buy pork – again, unrefrigerated, open in the hot sun all day - where a man took a cleaver and hacked it up on a piece of bloody cardboard for her. Dinner. I slipped and ended up getting sprayed with some kind of liquid. I had no idea what it was.
When we got to the house, she began to prepare dinner, and Kofi and I talked. He told me about the protest in 2007 when the refugees thought the Ghana government was hiding them and not allowing the US to resettle them. So they planted themselves in a field along the road and would not move for the officials – they wanted to be seen. He said that the Ghanaian government rounded up women and children and brought them far away to a wilderness for several weeks amidst snakes and scorpions then brought them back. He said that resulted in some people returning to Liberia.
He also told me that women came and begged him to close his school. He said that they believed if the children stopped going, then the UNHCR would take pity on them and resettle them. When he refused, they came back with community members and surrounded the school, telling him they would stone it if he did not close the school. He stood up to them, and they left.
Dinner was a huge plate of spicy rice, vegetables, and chewy pork Serwa bought a couple hours ago. After, we went to their friend Elizabeth’s house – a very nice home in the neighborhood with marble floors. She was quite sweet. She works at the ministry of the interior and her husband is an economist.
I found it very challenging to explain American politics – Republicans/Democrats, conservatives/liberals. I found myself oversimplifying a great deal, i.e., most Republicans are conservative, favor big business and military; most Democrats are liberal, believe in social welfare, health care, education.
We talked a bit about foods, and I said we eat lots of chicken. So Serwa said she’d go buy a live fowl in the morning and kill it for dinner. So much work to prepare a meal! I am so spoiled.
Peter, Grace, and I left for Buduburam just past 9 and arrived around 10:45. En route, our driver Samuel (pronounced Samwell) thought a bus would let him out. It didn’t, and we had our front bumper scraped. Many of the roads are dirt and deeply rutted, others are a combination of dirt and broken pavement, and where the pavement is good, drivers fly. The roads are narrow, and I am reminded of what a Roman cab driver once said to me: “A millimeter is enough.” Indeed, that’s about all that vehicles here get.
Open markets and people carrying tall heavy wares on their heads are everywhere along the roads. I wonder how so many of them manage to sell enough. EVERYTHING is named after God: God’s Mercy Beauty Salon, Paradise Keys made here, Jesus Saves Used Vehicles, God is Great Fast Foods, In God We Trust Quality Sandals, Guinness/Father Forgive Them. My favorite so far is “Blessed Driving School.” One can only hope.
I will admit my heart skipped a beat when we pulled into the camp. I had to mentally punch myself and say, What did you expect? The Hilton? Grace noticed obituary and arrangement notices taped to the concrete walls. I’ve been told there is no day you are more famous than the day of your funeral. It takes up a whole weekend. You can tell the women going to funerals by their black and white dresses.
[NOTE: All names of camp residents are psyeudonyms.]
We were met by the Ghana government camp manager, a very nice man named Dzifa. We were joined by the Buduburam Refugee Community Secondary School principal, Kojo of the Carolyn Miller Elementary School, the chief security officer Elolo, chief social work counselor, and Serwa, the teacher I am staying with. I got so much information this afternoon that I am having difficulty remembering it all. Dzifa said a great deal about the camp and his opinion about problems resulting from UNHCR management. He said that very few have been resettled from there, and in 2007, the UN left the camp in hopes of pressuring the residents to repatriate to Liberia. But the package they offer to return is only transportation and $100 USD. That’s it; then you’re on your own. They are trying to work out a reintegration package into Ghana, but he does not expect it to be sufficient. He felt that if the UNHCR had put the money into repatriation that they put into building and sustaining the camp, everyone would have returned. On the other hand, there are children who were born in the camp and whose parents have died. They have no connections to Liberia. The camp was opened 20 years ago. He said that many of the people still believe they will be resettled if they wait long enough, and they believe that America is like a paradise. I could understand that – the worst conditions I can think of in the U.S. are better than some I saw in the camp today. Then again, here they are familiar with the culture and customs, they have one another, and though their shelter may be in a metal shed on dirt, they are not homeless.
When Serwa arrived, we went to her house to deposit my belongings. She and her husband Abeeku live off the camp. Their home is nice by Ghana standards. The floor is concrete, but they have electricity and a shower and toilet. The neighborhood is off on deeply rutted dirt roads, and the air is strong of goat scent. They have a fan they are using to keep me cool, and they are very kind.
We went back to the camp office, and Peter and Grace left. I went on with Kojo, Serwa, another administrator for the Miller School, and the HS principal, Kofi. We stopped first at the high school. The rooms are small, and there are only some desks and a blackboard. They teach computer science, but the school only has one computer that is used in the office, no internet. The principal has a proposal for bringing in computers. His students pay 55-70 cedi’s/year to attend (70 is about $50 US).
Then we went to the Carolyn Miller School. Also poor, it has a small library and a computer room with five working old computers and internet service. Kofi told me stories of finding various benefactors that helped build the school and equip it. He used to have a high school there but had to close it down after 2007.
Serwa’s school is a new building built by the UN. The children do not have to pay tuition. The rooms are small but new and nice. Her kindergarten room was loaded with books and supplies (something I did not see in the other schools).
After, Kofi came with Serwa and I to her house. First, though, we stopped at the market. I was the only white face in the sea of throngs of black people. The smells and the ground and the sights in the market were a bit overwhelming for me, this privileged white woman used to refrigerated meats and produce in an air-conditioned grocery store.
There were piles of dried or smoked fish in the hot, open air. Serwa stopped to buy pork – again, unrefrigerated, open in the hot sun all day - where a man took a cleaver and hacked it up on a piece of bloody cardboard for her. Dinner. I slipped and ended up getting sprayed with some kind of liquid. I had no idea what it was.
When we got to the house, she began to prepare dinner, and Kofi and I talked. He told me about the protest in 2007 when the refugees thought the Ghana government was hiding them and not allowing the US to resettle them. So they planted themselves in a field along the road and would not move for the officials – they wanted to be seen. He said that the Ghanaian government rounded up women and children and brought them far away to a wilderness for several weeks amidst snakes and scorpions then brought them back. He said that resulted in some people returning to Liberia.
He also told me that women came and begged him to close his school. He said that they believed if the children stopped going, then the UNHCR would take pity on them and resettle them. When he refused, they came back with community members and surrounded the school, telling him they would stone it if he did not close the school. He stood up to them, and they left.
Dinner was a huge plate of spicy rice, vegetables, and chewy pork Serwa bought a couple hours ago. After, we went to their friend Elizabeth’s house – a very nice home in the neighborhood with marble floors. She was quite sweet. She works at the ministry of the interior and her husband is an economist.
I found it very challenging to explain American politics – Republicans/Democrats, conservatives/liberals. I found myself oversimplifying a great deal, i.e., most Republicans are conservative, favor big business and military; most Democrats are liberal, believe in social welfare, health care, education.
We talked a bit about foods, and I said we eat lots of chicken. So Serwa said she’d go buy a live fowl in the morning and kill it for dinner. So much work to prepare a meal! I am so spoiled.
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