I had a fitful previous night taking a couple hours to get to sleep. In spite of the fan, I could not get cool, and my whole body ached so much that I could hardly roll over. I finally got to sleep, only to be awakened by a bad leg cramp. My bed – I suspect the nicest one, as my hostess is so gracious – is a double-bed sized mattress made of about 2” of soft foam on wooden bed slats. I can’t seem to get the hang of angling myself such that the edge of a slat isn’t digging into one of my hips.
Abeeku told me that he and Serwa would be considered middle class Ghanaians – Peter suggested that they were probably a bit above that given their TV and two bedroom home with some plumbing and electricity, and Serwa’s university degree. That would make them roughly equivalent to someone like me in the States. So, middle-class Ghanaian: no air conditioning, no computer, no regular running water, no dishwasher, washer, dryer, or vacuum cleaner. We usually took a bucket of rain water into the shower stall along with a plastic cup to use for pouring the water over our bodies to soap up and rinse off rather than actually using the shower. There was no hot running water. No soft, thick bed mattress or pillows. No car. I know they are running the fan for my sake and would not typically have it on. Middle class Floridian: central air, two computers, modern kitchen and household appliances, car. The difference in the environmental footprint is tremendous, as well as ease of lifestyle.
En route to Buduburam for my last day at the camp, I noticed a road sign that read, “Dr. Adam —Specializing in madness, asthma, dysentery,” and a handful of other unrelated maladies. There was also God’s Grace Auto Parts and Not My Will but His Beauty Salon (does that mean if the client doesn’t like the outcome the beautician is not responsible?)
I spent the morning at the Buduburam Refugee Community School. Kofi, the principal, said there are about 200 in the secondary school but that they would not all be there. He said, “They have lots of problems. When they are hungry, they don’t come. They need to find something to eat.”
Many classes I visited were taking paper and pencil quizzes. This is the poorest of the three schools I have visited. There are no books, no fans, bare walls. I could not read some of the quiz on the board in one class because of the glare from the sun. When Kofi and I walked across a soccer pitch to go from the primary to the secondary school, he caught up with a boy and asked why he wasn’t in school. The boy said he needed to buy a uniform but did not have the money (they are required). Kofi told him to get one and be back in school by Monday. I asked about him. The principal told me that the boy’s father had been a vice principal at the school but was resettled in the US in 2006. His mother was still in Liberia. I asked if he lived in an orphanage, and Kofi said that no, he was left to fend for himself, living in a lean-to that had been his father’s. This is not so unusual a story.
There were two teachers’ lounges – both small rooms with a couple dusty tables and chairs. One had cupboards for the teachers’ use. The “auditorium” was the largest room. It was three-sided with one long side open to the courtyard, and there were some long tables and chairs there. Kofi said that there would be an assembly on Friday (the students would not all fit, so many would be in the courtyard. At the assembly he would announce honours students, and there would be an academic competition: the 12th graders against the rest of the school. I wish I could be there for it.
Kofi gave me lots of school budget and inventory information. The budget is tiny, and after expenditures, he had a balance of about 26 cedis in the bank (about $18). He was thrilled about the scholarship I donated on behalf of my colleagues in the States so that his most promising student could take the national graduation exam, and also deeply appreciative of the supplies I brought. In his office I explained to him that one of my dear friends had also made a special contribution and asked me to give it to the school most in need. I determined it to be the Refugee Community School. I said that gift was to be used for the students, not for the office. Then I pulled out the new laptop with an 8-hour battery. He was overjoyed. “Now, finally, my students can touch a computer!” he said. “And I can carry it from class to class!” He had me take a photo of him with the computer while he held a photo of the donor, and he stapled the donor’s photo on his office bulletin board.
In the 12th grade, Kofi announced the scholarship donation as well as the student who will receive it. Her name is Fatu, from the southwest section of Liberia.
I met up with Peter and Grace in the afternoon. I wonder how I would have managed another day. My body has finally caved with various system shutdowns. Once we got to their place back at the University of Ghana Legon, I took a quick shower and lay down for two hours. It will be good to have the couple days there before the 30 hour travel back to the States.
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