Serwa said we would leave by 7, but we left just before 9. Abeeku ended up driving Elizabeth all the way to Accra to borrow the car. I thought we would get an earlier taxi, but we didn’t.
We did walk to an intersection in hopes of getting a taxi. As we passed a mother her three children, the kids smiled and began chanting “Obruni! Obruni!”(It means "white person.") I guess I’ll remember that word.
I felt good to get to Serwa’s school. She arranged a meeting with the teachers. They went one by one telling me what they wanted – books, computers (they only have one or two), a tank for water collection, a feeding program, transportation for the kids who live far away, more supplies, sports equipment. One woman even pulled me aside and asked if I could find her a man in the States. I laughed and said, “I can’t even find one for myself!” She laughed and didn’t press me further. The male 6th grade teacher asked for pen pals – now that, I can do. I explained to them all that I cannot promise anything, but I will apply for a grant.
I started in Serwa’s kindergarten room. The kids were very sweet. I went through a couple pages in their text book, then I told them the story of my blind horse, Magic. I had them laughing as I acted out how he would trip if I didn’t teach him “up” and “down.” There was another teacher in the class that liked to swing her cane around. Every teacher has canes. I noticed more snapping of them and carrying them with the early grades (through 2nd) and not in the older grades, though they were available. Serwa did not carry one.
I went to the other kindergarten teacher. She was more stern and didn’t seem to have good management skills. While she was looking at some children’s coloring, three kids on the other side of the room were hitting each other with their shoes. One got up, to tell I think, and she hurried him back to his seat. Another was sound asleep at his desk. She scolded one for coloring out of the lines. To the boys who colored the girl instead of the boy, she said to the class that they were now girls. Homosexuality is a crime in Ghana. She did smile a few times and tell some children they did very good, beautiful.
We went out for recess. I was having trouble turning off the flash on my camera. Every time it went off, the children screamed (in delight). They tried to play with the jump ropes I brought. One girl was quite good; I think they have not done much with jump ropes.
When we went back, I began the rounds, starting with first grade. They were working on ones and tens. They use a lot of lecture and group repetition. When the teacher is pleased with a child’s answer or the class, she may say, Good! Clap for this child, or Clap for yourselves. After class recitations and individual answers on ones and tens, the teacher placed several examples on the board for them to do silently at their desks. Later in the day, this class was working on active verbs in English. With the younger grades the teachers use native language and English.
The second graders were drawing rainbows. The teacher was looking for evenness in the bands and seven colors. In third grade, the teacher was working on organs, specifically, the senses. Again, there was much use of class repetition. For instance, when one child volunteered that eyes were an organ, he said, “Very good! Eyes are an organ.” Class, Say ‘Eyes are an organ.’ The class said the sentence. The teacher repeated; the class repeated. And again, a third time. He also quizzed them on the functions of the sense organs.
In fourth, the children were converting from grams to kilograms. The teacher was showing them how to move over three places. I missed the fifth grade. I was very interested in the sixth grade that the teacher had citizenship education written on the board and under it, domestic violence, abuse, and disputes. He was talking about parents and fights and some things that cause them to fight.
Kojo came by before I could get back to the 5th grade and asked me to walk to the Carolyn Miller School. He had some of the children working on drawings for me. (On Sunday I gave him a sketch pad and asked if students would draw from one of these themes: what makes them happy, a story about their lives, or the bravest thing they ever did.) They are going to be amazing. I asked him about making a contribution for the children to take their exams to get into senior high, and he told me that UNHCR pays for that. They do not pay for the national exams at the end of senior high, though, so some promising students cannot apply to university. I asked how I could donate money for the kids for a few scholarships. He suggested Milike, their chair of education on the camp (and former minister of education in Liberia).
He walked me back to the UNHCR school, and Abeeku collected Serwa and I, I thought, for a trip to the ocean. I am sure they are being gracious by Ghanaian standards. But by US white middle class educated culture – all of their actions this afternoon were completely new to me, and I struggled to remain patient and calm. Samuel keeps repeating, Professor Jody! Are you happy? Are you enjoying yourself? We want you to feel at home. Of course, “at home” for me includes a great share of independence, and here I am very much at the mercy of my hosts.
We spent at least an hour for Abeeku to decide what kind of oil and where to buy it for the car. Then we went to the University of Winneba, Serwa’s undergrad school, so she could pick up some transcripts and get someone to write her a recommendation. That had to take two hours. By then I didn’t feel like going to the ocean. I felt filthy from the sand and dust blowing onto my sweaty skin all day, and I wanted to get some work done before tomorrow. But we went anyway, and the road was overrun with people and market sheds. It was barely wide enough for one car, Then I discovered that they were actually looking for somebody. It was a pastor to whom Abeeku wanted to sell a suit. We finally found the guy and traveled the rutted roads to his house where I was left in the car for a while. I got out to take a photo and the car alarm went off (it goes off at nearly any touch or movement).
I was asked to come in. One of the pastor’s children, a toddler-aged boy screamed in fright when I came in – he had never seen a white person. All the conversation was in Fanti so I couldn’t follow what was going on. I was getting beyond weary. Finally, they said we would leave. Then the pastor had to say a lengthy prayer. We went outside and they visited some more. I was starting to get cranky. FINALLY we left. Then we stopped at another market where they knew the woman, but not for long.
Abeeku is making me uncomfortable. He will hold my hand, entwining his fingers in mine, call me Professor Jody! repeatedly and for no reason – he just seems to like to say it, tell me he will visit me, ask to embrace me (I politely refused), tell me he will miss me and wants to call me every day. I’m not sure if it is because I am like a novelty that he sees as bringing status or something else, but I am not used to being treated in this way, and I don’t like it.
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