Ching Chong and Fufu

From Yesterday- (8-24-11)

Notice the sticker on Julia's forehead

Drawing lesson

Reading time

The market at a nearby town

More of the market

Rebecca with a kid

The locals here have finally settled on a name for me.  Ching Chong Obruni.  It is very annoying, but also amusing.  The Ghanaians are not exactly the most educated or "cultured" people, so although it is wearisome being called out everywhere I go (sometimes in a friendly way, other times in a hostile way), I can't fault them. 

My host mother is a wonderful person.  She was abused by her step-mother when she was a kid, and she vowed to alleviate the suffering of others.  She found some of the kids living on the streets literally without any clothes and adopted them.  There is no nepotism toward her own children - she treats the orphans the same as her kids.  Because of the additional burden of orphans, she is not able to give her children the same opportunities that she would have otherwise been able to provide. 

The orphanage/house is seriously lacking in supplies.  There is no running water, most of the children do not have clothing that fit, and no one has proper shoes.  If anyone could help out, please send me a message on facebook or comment here. 

Anyway, due to some unbelievable professional irresponsibility from the hospital, I do not have the paperwork to start until Monday.  I almost exploded on those semi-responsible, but thankfully did not say many things that I will regret.

So I have been helping in the orphanage  - yesterday we took the kids out to the soccer park (well, a clearing in the forest), and one of the kids kicked the ball into the dense brush.  So while the bigger kids were in the brush looking for the ball, I realized that the littlest one (18 months) was missing.  We only discovered where he was because he started crying out - it turns out that he crawled into the brush following the bigger kids and disturbed some African ants.   We had to undress him, take the ants off the clothes, and brush off his body free of ants.  An unforeseen consequence of this misfortune is that the toddlers, seeing Pa (the baby) naked, thought that it would be cool if they also striped butt naked.  We spent the next five minutes tracking down the kids to put some clothes on them. 

The obrunis like going to a "spot" where they can get away from the bustle of the kids and do some Western activities.  Going to the "spot" with the Germans in the evenings has become the favorite part of my day - sitting outside and looking at the African stars is very relaxing. 

Yesterday, after we came back from the soccer park, I met a Ghanaian 17 year old, George, who asked if I would like to play soccer with his friends.  I agreed and we went to his house, and played a game of two v two soccer.  The goals each consisted of two rocks placed five yards apart.  Afterwards, I met rest of his siblings, Elvis (20), Derek (19), Theophillius (14), and Eunice (I don't remember her age), his cousins, his uncles, and his parents. 

In Ghana, a test that parallels the American SAT is called the ICT - it measures basic computer literacy.  So parents with multiple children try their best to acquire computers that their kids can practice on.  Admittedly, the electronic device looked out of place, but the mom, seeing a obruni, asked me to type something.  I did so at a blazing pace, and in Ghana, being able to type fast is apparently an important skill, so they were amazed.  Tangentially, speaking of finger exercises, I have not been able to find a piano in the village and have repeatedly caught myself playing lap piano.

Anyway, their mom, Mrs. Botwe, made me stay for dinner, and I thought that it would be impolite to refuse, so I ate fufu, a ground up mixture of plantains and cassava with a fish soup, with the boys.  Traditionally, in Ghana, one does not use silverware to eat, but instead uses his or her right hand to eat the food out of a communal bowl.  It is much like some Korean style of dining, minus the silverware.  I will try to post a picture of it sometime. 

I did not eat my usual amount at the Botwes because I knew that my host mother prepared a meal for me at home and knew that her feelings would be hurt if I do not eat all of her food.  I painfully forced down the usual massive amount of starch,  but I let it slip that I ate some fufu at the Botwes.  Her feelings were hurt.  She is a simple, good hearted person who loves taking care of people.  Unfortunately, it is a slight to her hospitality that I ate at an another house, so next time, I'll be sure to omit my culinary adventures in a conversation with her. 

Anyway, it is a thirty minute round trip from the Internet Cafe to the house - luckily the village installed one a couple of months before I arrived, otherwise I would have no Internet access.  I figured out how to circumvent the system to maximize my Internet time.  I found a way to pay for one hour of Internet time, and use it for five hours.  So, I will be able to write more frequently here. 

More to come....