You're Ghana Love This...
Akwabba! I am Ghana share a little piece of my heart with you. First, if you travel to Ghana, you're Ghana have a lot of puns. Secondly, Ghana is a place where a person is a person and it is just that simple. Drums are played loud and dance is performed with passion. Women are inherent to their culture as they stand tall with their heads held high, accompanied with large baskets on their heads. This is also home to where the language of Twi is spoken with pride.
As I walked through the village in the dark to my home, I was greeted with a hand shake and smile by every one on both sides. Not because I was a guest, but because I was a person. My time was spent living life right beside the rest. I walked to school beside the school children. I rode down bumpy paths, and slept in a family home. A village in Ghana consists of winding dirt paths with small homes along it, women fetching water, cooking on small fires outside the home, communal tin outhouses, children taking care of each other, several small churches, sometimes a school, and small livestock running between legs. If you ask who ones brother or sister you are, you will get lost down a non existent family tree, because they are all brothers and sisters. As I spoke with members, I recognized a knowledge gap; as many did not understand that Ghana was apart of Africa. They did not know the coco they were harvesting would be turned into chocolate. They did not know that their people were once taken as slaves. However none of that mattered to them. If the joy they have, was a form of currency, then the people of Ghana could pay off the U.S debt. They have each other, faith, and a whole lot of life in them, and that is enough.
Most of my time was spent at Semanhiya American School (SAS), founded by a young Ghanian village member who was inspired by his travels and had a desire to give back to his community. The school has been open for three short years and has taken the title of the best school in the region. With students from nursery school, up through grade three, adding a grade level after each completed year. Every morning the 300 plus students spilled through the gates in shinned shoes, tucked uniforms, and with their arms folded. We then opened with breakfast, dancing, and the Lord’s prayer. This routine set the tone for the learning to follow. With two teachers per classroom, learning was individualized. Classrooms were bright, energetic, and filled with materials. The school yard was designed to encourage exploration and learning through play. The students walked with pride, just as the women do with baskets atop their head. They had dreams of becoming doctors and nurses with a determination to do so. After this experience, I faced the forefront of Ghanian education.
A short bus ride away was the next villages school, which served as a representation of the countries schools. Upon arrival, children in unfit yellow silk uniforms covered both sides of the street. This was a juxtaposition to the bare schoolyard and dark buildings behind. I entered grade five and joined the class. The children’s demeanor was solemn, their curiosity was closed, and their pride for learning had diminished. The tally in the corner of the black board “Caned:8 Broomed:28” served as a reminder to only speak when spoken to. My short visit was concluded with a teaching of a classic camp song which brought smiles to the unlit room. Their world was smaller, very few understood the question “What do you want to be when you grow up? What is you dream?” After hesitation a few hesitantly replied teachers and carpenters. The differences were undeniable and remarkable.
Processing my stay with my last meal under the Ghanaian stars, I was presented with a question at the end of my stay; “Do you miss home?” I responded with “do you mean my home in the U.S.” The women in fact meant just that. In that moment I realized I had gained a home, as I thought she meant my village home. I explained that I was fortunate to live in a community with values similar to hers. That my home was home to more than just me and my immediate family. That I had family that doesn't share DNA just as she did. That I grew up surrounded by family just as she had. We both realized that regardless of all other differences, we were connected; my home was her home and her home was mine. The only structure considered were people. Mdaase Ghana for opening your home to me.
Medawo
