Day 10

July 24

I got my hair braided on Wednesday. A mix of cornrows and loose braids. She brought the wrong color, so I’m not a big fan of the blonde but literally every Ghanaian loves it. I get stopped in the streets. LOL. I still will probably get it re-done with a different color. It only cost $14 ($9 for the hair and $5 for braiding).

Yesterday, Elvis, the two Ghanaian volunteers and I, took some HIV clients to get insurance. A mother, her child, and two adult women. They are not the women I mentioned before. I’m seeing a trend with HIV infected women and not men. Maybe women are getting tested more often than men. I’m not sure. Elvis left to do some other errands. After we paid, the Ghanaian volunteers and I for their insurance, walked to get photocopies of the receipts. We found out that the last woman we met in the communities (the one that was nervous and we have to talk to in secret) came to the office to get insurance. We walked back to the insurance office to pay for hers as well. One down three to go. I was glad, but she was the one I was least concerned with. We then had to walk to the hospital to get a list of new cases. On our way back to the junction to catch a tro tro to meet Elvis in Cape Coast, we saw the woman and her child in the taxi on her way to the hospital (the one that believed that HIV is an evil spirit). I was over-joyed. We decided to walk back and meet her at the hospital. We met her and her daughter and walked to the insurance office to pay for her insurance. We walked her back to the hospital so that she could receive HIV counseling. The hospital needed to test the mother and the daughter’s white blood cell count so they will know what drugs to give them, but the lab tech was not in, so she has to come back on Monday. I hope she comes back. I told her that man and the boat story translated by one of the volunteers. She said she understood. The other volunteer bought the daughter two dresses, I gave them a snack, and the other gave them some money for transportation. The woman with AIDS didn’t come. Elvis says, if she doesn’t begin treatment in the next two to three weeks she will die. She may be dead before I leave.

Day 7

July 21, 2009

I realized today that I can’t date a Ghanaian. Probably no African. Probably no man that isn’t African American (Caribbean men are still ok, lol). If he is from another culture other than mine he must be conscious. He must be aware of and concerned with racial issues and their histories. Especially African Americans.’ I was in the car with Elvis and two other Ghanaian volunteers. He was on the phone with another man and said “Ok bye my nigga.” I said, “What did you say?” The volunteer in the back said “nigga.” My eye brows raised. I heard that some Africans use the term more so because they listen to American hip hop where is it used so freely.

Elvis said “what?”
I replied, “I’m surprised you used that word. Do you know the history behind that word?”
Elvis said, “When I was in the UK at the school I was in, when the whites called the blacks nigga they will always fight. I told them if someone calls you that don’t mind them or you will always be fighting.”
“Then maybe then they will stop calling them that.”
“But that doesn’t solve the problem.”
“And you using it causally will? If you know its a bad word, a word that causes fights, why use it?”
“We don’t know the history so it doesn’t matter to us.”

I paused. Disgusted. Maybe more so disappointed. The “N” word is a hot topic in the US which has not been resolved and probably never will be. The thing is, those who chose to use it have, even if, a minute understanding of the history and the discrimination associated with the word. But now it is spreading all over the world without the history attached to it. It’s like the word has been fetishized (in the Marxian context). Fetishized commodities are items, merchandise, that is sold from which the labor history has been erased. For example, you can buy a shirt from Wal-mart or any store and all you see is a design or cut that you like. You don’t see the international politics or discriminatory labor practices that may be associated with growing the materials to make the fabric or the hands that made it in a Chinese or Taiwanese sweat shop. This labor is used to benefit a business owner. The product is made under dubious circumstances to benefit someone else. The same thing can happen with words. Nigga or nigger (to me there is no real difference, although some argue that there is) assisted in creating a racial divide in the US that perpetuated political, economic, and social benefits for those who claimed whiteness (meaning US born whites, European immigrants, and even those who could pass as white). Some blacks began to take on that term and claim it as a term of endearment. This is most evident in the hip hop community. Some have said they have changed the meaning of the word, but I argue if you have successfully done so, then why are you angry when a white person calls you that name? That means the history still lingers. I said to the “Bebop to Hip Hop” class I TA’ed for last quarter, “Are there any other words that are derogatory slurs that the people who are being discriminated against, have adopted as something positive? Do Mexicans say ‘Hey that’s my spic!’ or do Jews say ‘Yo that’s my kike.’ No you don’t. So why is it that African Americans have done so? Is this a manifestation of internalized self-hatred?” I then showed them this quote:

"When you control a man's thinking you do not have to worry about his actions. You do not have to tell him not to stand here or go yonder. He will find his ‘proper place’ and will stay in it. You do not need to send him to the back door. He will go without being told. In fact, if there is no back door, he will cut one for his special benefit. His education makes it necessary." Dr. Carter G. Woodson, "The Miseducation of the Negro"

I showed them this quote because it is no longer socially appropriate to refer to blacks as niggas. But instead of blacks creating a term of endearment and no longer associating themselves with words that was suppose to put them in their “proper place”, many have taken it upon themselves to do it for the whites that aren’t. It would be something different if the history was erased. Meaning, anyone could use the term without consequence, but that is not the case, both in the US and in the UK. The class and I also talked about the word “bitch”. Women both white and black discussed how they will use that term to talk with their friends. They can use it with their friends but no man can call them that. I then asked them, “Is there such a term for men? Is there a word that man innocently use with each other that they wouldn’t ever want a woman to call them?” Interesting all over the world blacks and women are the ones most consistently discriminated against regardless of region or culture, and in the US they are the only ones that have negative terms attached to them that they have embraced. How backwards is that?
Now the “n” word has made its way to Africa and the history is lost. But not completely because it is understood that in some contexts (such as with whites and blacks in the UK) the term is so offensive, people become physically violent. I’m bothered. Maybe more thoughts to come...

_____

On another note, we went to meet some HIV clients in the rural communities today. It was interesting. They were all new cases and the goal was to find out what they need and how the organization can help. The first was a woman and child. She told us that she believes the disease is an evil spirit from the devil and if only she prays, God will remove the evil spirit. She and her child are showing signs of the beginning stages, frailty, the skins is toughening, and the hair is becoming discolored. To many, her explanation may sound absurd, but as I explained to the nurse that came with us, for a Christian it isn’t absurd. But what may need to happen is that mediator that is a pastor should come wit us for such cases. As a Christian, you believe that all that is in the bible is true and all the miracles that happened in the past can still happen today, because as the bible says, God is never changing. For example, in Mark (I believe) there is a story of a man whose body would randomly fall to the ground and became ridged. They called the apostles to remove the spirit from his body. Today we would call the man’s actions, epilepsy. But then, it was called a demon. An evil spirit. And according to the bible the man was healed. Just as the woman who had an “issue of blood” (what we would call today hemorrhaging because she had a blood clotting problem) touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and was healed. The HIV-infected woman’s thought process is not so far-fetched. If anything her faith is very strong. So strong she is willing to risk dying because of it. Which makes me think, can your faith kill you? I called my cousin to wish her a happy belated birthday and I told her about the woman. She reminded me of a story of have heard before.
There is was a man in the middle of the ocean treading water trying not to drown. A boat passed by and asked “Do you need any help?” The man said. “No, God will save me.” Another boat came and asked the same thing. “Do you need any help?” The man said “No, God will save me.” After the third boat came the man drowned. The man went to heaven and asked God, “God, why didn’t you save me?” And God said, “I sent you three boats.” The moral of the story being that Jesus isn’t here for God to heal us directly. So God uses people to work through and assist us. It can be anyone. But we have to be in-tuned enough to God to know when he has sent us a boat. The right boat. I wish I would have told her the story. I am afraid that she won’t come to get the insurance and the HIV drugs. Elvis said, that he will pay for the insurance and the drugs they just have to make it to the hospital. The second woman was in worst condition. She was literally on her death bed. She had full blown AIDS unlike the others who have HIV but have not progressed to AIDS. She was all bones. You can see her rib cage. She had boils all over her body which is why she said she cannot move. Her child already died earlier this year because she didn’t take the child to the doctor. I’m not sure why though. I don’t know if she has the same beliefs as the other woman. I have the least amount of confidence that she will come to the hospital. Not only because she still has not gone to the hospital even though she has been told that it is the HIV/AIDS disease that is making her sick and that killed her child, but also because it is very difficult for her to move so I don’t know how she is going to make it. The third woman looked very frightened. More so nervous when we met with her. We had to go off to the side in the front part of the community so no one would see us and question her about why she was meeting with us. I wonder about her as well.

Day 5

July 19, 2009

I experience my first power outage last night. Elvis, his friend Fine Boy (lol don't ask, I don't know. I'm assuming it means that he's a nice guy cause everyone class him that), and I went to get some ice cream in the evening and all the electricity went out. It was almost pitch black. Plus the shop didn't have any chocolate ice cream. No fan last night. No electricity and my flash light wasn't working. The house was soo black. I don't think I have been anywhere were it was completely dark. No street lights nothing.

We had electricity by the morning. We went to church. It was an open room with concrete floors wood beams and a steel roof. They did a separate English Sunday school class for me and others who spoke English. They also mixed in English with the sermon. It reminded me a lot of a black southern Baptist church. Although I think they may have been a little reserved because I was there. I had to stand up and introduce myself (lol standard in my church back home). I said my name in Twi and the rest in English. The preacher then translated it in English. I then took a taxi to Elvis' office to use the internet and here I am… ready for another day.

Day 4

July 18

Auntie Georgina is working with Kojo to get his legs strong so he can walk. His legs are weak. She did the same with Darlington. Though Darlington looks like he might have a touch of polio or something.

 

Today we also took the children to the beach. Although the kids and no one else seemed to mine, I was a tad weirded out. There was a random family of pigs the roamed by. There was a dead deer-like animal that no one was too concerned with. Plus there were lots of random pieces of trash lying about. I know all the beaches aren't like this because last summer we went to two and it wasn't nearly as…weird. A tad gross. But as you get closer to the water its fine.

 

Miss Margaret, Adam's mom, brought groundnut sandwiches for the kids to eat. Something I that I didn't think twice about. We were going to be at the beach for lunch so why not bring lunch. Makes sense. But as Miss Margaret handed out the sandwiches, all the children from the community the kids were playing with came over asking for food. There may have been enough for the other children to eat, but, as I have learned, word travels fast, other kids would have asked where they got their food from then an entire community of children would have come asking for food. We told them "no", we couldn't give them any. So they all stood there and watched our kids eat. Literally stood there in front of them while they ate. If it was only one or two, I would have given them my sandwiches but there wasn't. I told the other volunteers, if you all want to give the sandwiches to them, the time to do it is while we are leaving. But by that time the kids left. But the most upsetting thing was that our kids were standing on a landing above the other kids, tossing the other kids their leftovers and telling them to say please. I told them, in front of the other kids, "You are making us regret give you food out here. You don't treat people like that just because you have food. Making people say please. If you are going to give it. Give but don't act like that." They stopped. They understood but I wish I could have reprimanded them in Twi. How easily people can forget where they come from. Each one of our kids at the orphanage came from very humble beginnings (still a humble orphanage) and it is because people were kind enough to take them in when no one else would and now some of them want to be mean to other people.

 

Its similar to the conversation I hand with Miss Nkrom, the mother of the house I'm staying in. She and her husband want to go to the US for a church conference, but it is very hard to get a visa to the US from Ghana without an invitation. She said she has family in the US that could invite her family but they tell her America is hell and she wouldn't want to be there. Miss Nkrom said, "well if it is hell why do you keep going back? Let me see the hell for myself." She says, often times Ghanaians get to America and think they are better than the Ghanaian who can't go. They come back to Ghana to visit and they treat their family poorly. Tell them to wash their car, take care of their babies, clean up after them etc, and not pay them properly. How easily people forget where they come from. I wouldn't doubt that many, if not most, foreign born people act the same way. Elvis was telling me a similar story of a Ghanaian girl from the UK who acts rude when she gets to Ghana are treats people poorly but he said when he went to the UK and saw her apartment, it was terribly small. He said, "It was soo bad I wanted to cry for her."

 

The fact that the US embassy in Ghana makes it so difficult to get a visa helps to elevate the people who get to travel to America. It costs $150 to get a visa to the US in Ghana. The US embassy is in Accra which is not close to a variety of cities. Many people don't stay in Accra because it is expensive. For example, my house family pays $70 in rent per month for a four bed room home. In Accra, you can pay $500 a month and over. The reason space and distance is important is because the US embassy requires an interview. Some times you have to travel to the embassy 10 times. This can get really expensive. Often times these interviews would last 1 minute or so. At your last visit the US embassy will ask, "Why are you going to the US?" the Ghanaian will respond, and then they will deny you the passport. The biggest problem is that you will not get your money back. This happens to 80% of the people who apply for visas. I was appalled. Elvis says he wants to start an organization to fight against the US embassy cheating Ghanaians. Makes you not want to represent the US. I wonder, if the US embassy represents the US and they cheat so many people, why do people still want to go? After a conversation with Miss Nkrom, too many people get cheated in Ghana already. For example, she paid for her gas tank that she uses to cook and heat water. It should last at least a month. It was gone in a week. She said the man cheated her. Some times they will just fill the tank with air and charge you the same price. I said, "Can you complain to the boss and get your money back?" She and Fred (a local friend) laughed. "Money paid in Ghana is not refundable. You can complain and the man maybe fired or he won't want you to complain so he will fill it up the way he is supposed to but you have to pay again." Umm, someone would have to get cussed out. Not cursed, cussed. That's a hot mess. Not sure what would happen if I went off. Gas is not cheap especially since right now there is a shortage. Because of whomever cheated her, I had to take a cool shower. Technically I could have waited until they got back with the new tank of gas (that we hope was full) but I had just left the beach and felt pretty gross.

 

 

 

 

Day 3

July 17, 2009

COCK A DODDLE DO!!!!

You have got to be kidding me! Its not even day light!

It was like some sort of mating call or something because. It wasn't the same call as yesterday morning. Because you then heard the same call from a distance. Like they were saying what's up to each other across town at 2am. Again, it felt like he was sitting at the head of me bed but I think he was right under my window.

Elvis told me to get up early because we would be taking Kojo to the hospital. I set my alarm last night. I finally work up. Looked at the time and it was earlier than I thought but was oddly well rested. Found out that I set the time wrong it was pretty late in the day. I missed Kojo's hospital visit. I ate breakfast.

Elvis called. Said he hadn't gone to the hospital (I didn't miss Kojo's visit) yet and I needed to hurry because we were late.

I showered, dressed and ran outside to meet the car. A woman was in the car. She said she was apart of Ghana's nutrition directorate. She's in charge of nutrition programs in a variety of communities. Kojo's being one of them. We picked up Kojo and went to the hospital.

It seemed more like a large clinic with something like a court yard in the center and people waiting on benches around it. I counted almost 70 people. We didn't go yesterday because the nurse that Elvis knew wasn't there and more people go to the hospital in the evening. Because Elvis knew one of the nurses, we were able to skip ahead. Kojo didn't have any paperwork because we didn't know his "official" name. Elvis said to me, "Think of a name, we need a name for him."

I said, "A name? His name is Kojo. What's wrong with Kojo?"

"It's not his official name. He needs an official name."

A person's official name is their English name.

"How about Langston. That's my son's name."

"Laston?"

"Langston." I wrote it. Elvis gave Kojo his surname.

Langston Morris Donkoh became his official name. We realize also we didn't know his birthday. We knew it was at least on a Monday. Elvis said he will give him a birthday. He had to do the same for other children in the orphanage.

Even with Elvis knowing the nurse we were there for over 3 hours waiting… and waiting. People were staring. Possibly because I was an American, because we were skipping or maybe they thought I was skipping because I was an American.

They drew his blood. Went into the doctors' office. I found out that doctors are a really big deal in Ghana. The doctor would be what we in the US would think is a little unprofessional. He was sitting relaxed drinking an orange soda. "Is he coughing?" He takes a sip. "No." Elvis says. The doctor checked him. Gave him a bunch of medicine. One of which was for worms and some packets of a special type of food since he was malnourished. The loads of mucus coming from behind his eyes. I keep diggin' it out. Elvis said it may be a result of the malnourishment, the worm infestation, or possibly gonorrhea of the eye. He ate all of one pack of the nourishment packet. And I got him to laugh. The other kids at the orphanage embraced him instantly and he started talking (which really means making noise), crawling, and laughing. He became attached to me. He keeps grabbing me. I'm so glad he's happy.

Day 2

July 16, 2009

COCK A DODDLE DO!!!!

(5 minutes)

COCK A DODDLE DO!!!!

(2 seconds)

COCK A DODDLE DO!!!!

"Ok! Dang it I'm up." I said to myself while lying in bed. It felt like the rooster was sitting at the head of my bed. It's like an alarm whose snooze button keeps getting pressed. I also heard really loud music. Hip Life I think (Ghanaian hip hop). It was probably 8am and my host family had already been up for three hours. "Good Morning!" The house helps said as I walked to the washroom. "Good morning." Which I tried to say with just as much enthusiasm. Not sure if I was as successful. "Are you ready for your water?" "Yes," I said. I'm given a bucket of hot water to use to bathe in the washroom. There is a shower and a faucet but it only runs cold water. I found out that hot water is a step up since the other volunteers must shower in cold water and often the children in the orphanage.

I got dressed and met Elvis across the street in his house. Auntie Georgina was there, one of the house mothers for the orphanage, discussing the orphanage, making a menu etc. Elvis and I also had a list of things to do:

Go to the market

Get banko stick

Dried fish

Matches

Soap

Shoes for grace

Go to National Health Office

Kerosene

Little did I know this wasn't half the things that need to be done.

The car had a flat tire. Had to get air in the tire.

One of the sewing machines at the girls' vocational school was broken. Had to pick up someone to fix it. One of Elvis' friends. Found out that his wife died recently. So, we a have a funeral to attend next Friday. I'm supposed to wear black and/or red. I have to get a dress made.

Picked up two HIV patients, a mother and child. I don't think I have ever heard a baby cry so much. I don't think she was in pain, she was just spoiled and wanted to be held by her mother (and only her mother) all of the time.

Went to a community, where they told Elvis that they need him to take a baby. Kojo is his name. His Akan day name. Means he was born on a Monday. The mother, who is 14, left Kojo in the community about two months ago and hasn't come back. We don't know his age, HIV status, or the mother's name. He looks like he might be one years old, but no more than that. Kojo's situation was told to Elvis about a week ago, but the orphanage is small and he can't fulfill every request. Kojo had been living with an old woman with only a shirt on. Kojo, didn't smile or cry, but he was sad. You could feel it. It was a sadness that made you feel like he had been crying too much and decided to give up or ran out of tears. He looked like he knew more than he should have. Elvis called the house mothers to see if they are willing to take another child. They agreed, the community gave him a shorts-set and we took him. He had some mucus-something in his eyes and marks and bumps on his body. He still isn't crying or making any sound. We take him to the orphanage and I give out the donated toys

then we go to the market. It's busy as usual. We get banko sticks and fish but ran out of money for the other items. Will get them later. Lost time so can't go the National Health Office. Its' closed. We had to go to the National Health Office because Elvis already paid about $300 for health insurance for the children but they have not given them their ID cards. Its been over a year. Without the ID cards they can't get health care. He stopped paying since they can't use the services. The money is lost.

We leave the market and go back to the orphanage. The other volunteers are there: Elizabeth's friend Johanna, her boyfriend Adam, and his mother Margaret. The children are being given baths outside. Margaret is mad about something. No sure what. And taking pictures of the children bathing. That felt pretty weird but I didn't say anything. My first thought is, "I'm don't think I want to work with her." But I didn't write her off too soon. I met Elizabeth already. We went on the Ghana study abroad trip last summer and it is because of her that I found out about the orphanage and decided to volunteer. Margaret was making, what it sounded to be a list of demands: "We need mats for the children, they are peeing in the bed. We need… We need… and the first place Kojo should have went was the hospital. Elvis doesn't know the first thing about raising 15 kids now there is an extra one." The last two thing she didn't say to Elvis, just to the volunteers. I have two thoughts, "hmm, yeah, why didn't we take Kojo to the hospital at first?" Then I figured there must have been a reason that I didn't know about and figured I would find out later. Then I was thinking "How dare you Margaret? How can you say he doesn't know the first thing about raising 15 kids. Who does?! None of the house mothers have 15 kids. Plus you don't know who he has raised. He has been running his organization for the past 11 years. He has been here before you, he is here when you aren't and will be here after. You don't know what he does at the orphanage. You aren't there most of the time! You're in the US!" That really bothered me. Don't think I am going to be a fan of her but I am determined to talk to her in hopes of her understanding how problematic her stance is.

Ghana’s Children’s Home of Hope: Day 1

July 15, 2009

On the plane I sat in the middle of two older women's conversation: one black one white. The black lady asks me. "Do you know what a cougar is?"

"Yes." I said, the white lady said no.

"Guess how old I am?"

White lady, "I don't know you look good."

"Well my oldest son is 40. I have 10 grand kids and 3 great grandkids… and my husband is 30." She turned her head in a look mixed with humor and shame, then followed it with what I guess she thought needed justification.

"We have been talking for six months over the internet and this is my first time seeing him. I love his accent. I love him and we love each other. It's an adventure. I would have never planned this. Oh no. God works in mysterious ways. " Once she turned around and sat down in the row ahead of us the white lady said, "She's brave." To which I said, "She's something."

The white lady then told me about how she is going to Ghana to teach children how to make paper in Kumasi. She learned a certain paper-making form in Madagascar. The organization found out that she knew it and invited her.

These two conversations made me think of one thing: Infatuation with Otherness. The cougar's husband died two years ago. She said she finished raising her kids and it was time to do something for herself. Now, I think that is important, but would she have been dating a poor African American man with three kids? "It's the accent" and "adventure" that makes this more than just marrying a man, its bigger than that. It's something outside of her. Something other than her norm that makes the situation intriguing…the man intriguing. It's Stella Got Her Groove Back part two. But as we know, in reality Terry McMillan's very young and low-income Jamaican honey turned out to be gay and was really just trying to get out of the country. Since professional black women are dying at an alarming early rate of stressed-induced heart disease and are less likely to get married than any other woman in America, I'm wondering about our love choices?

With the white lady flying to Africa to teach Africans how to make paper via a process that is done by Africans baffles me. Why couldn't the Ghanaian organization invite someone from Madagascar? To many times I have had interactions with Africans who put people of European decent on a pedestal. Is learning how to make paper from the American more interesting than if it was taught by someone from Madagascar? Kind of like watching celebrities on Dancing with Stars learning dances created by brown people but aren't taught by them.

I arrived in Ghana and its hot. Not too too bad though. I had a straight flight from New York so that made the plane ride much easier. I didn't sleep well on the plane because the seats were too close for my liking. It was good though that I didn't have anyone on either side of me. I received an email some weeks ago about me being given the opportunity to upgrade to business class for just the cost of one mile. As I passed the plush fully-reclining chairs on my way to disembark the plane, I regretted my procrastination.

As I went through the airport, I prepared myself for 90,000 people wanting to help me with my bags. And continuing to tell them no. In the midst of the influx of persistent baggage handlers someone called my name. It was odd at first because the only person I had met already that was expecting me was Elvis, the director of the orphanage. He told me that he wouldn't be able to pick me up and his assistant would have a sign with my name on it. I discovered that the person who called me was Vivian, Mark's assistant. Mark has a global internet craft business and asked me to deliver a computer to her. He gave her a picture of me and she recognized who I was. I gave her the computer and then I found Elvis' assistant. We took two taxis' and a tro tro (local transportation like a bus service but with vans) to ride two hours to Cape Coast. The whole trip took about 6 hours. The van had to wait to be filled with passengers in order to make the most of the trip.

I'm arriving just days after Obama's visit. There are signs everywhere, welcoming him with pictures of him and Ghana's president claiming that they are going to work together for change. Not sure if that's actually going to happen. It could have been more of a political move for Ghana's current president who appears to be on somewhat political shaky ground.

Elvis told me about the mixed feelings people had about Obama's visit. And as I read some news papers, it truly is an interesting mix. In one newspaper it asked, "Why did the rain stop when Obama came?" Ghana is in the rainy season and days before Obama's arrival it was raining so bad many cities were flooded. On the day Obama came the rain stopped, then rained again after he left. As you read the article, it's a question that places Obama too close to some form of deity. A tad problematic for me. Another paper inquired if Obama has an ulterior motive. Ghana recently discovered oil and has the potential to be a large player in the global fossil fuels trade.

Others said, some were angry that the Ghanaian president John Evan Atta Mills, spent a substantial amount of money renovating the palace, painting buildings, and hiring 40,000 Ghanaian police man used to protect the Obama, who already had a security team. Many people are upset at this for a couple of reasons. A) Ghana, who needs work on infrastructure (sewage, electricity, water etc and also has a petro shortage) and need funds for public education, could have used the money from Obama's visit for other areas in the country. B) Virtually no one got to see Obama. The roads were closed and all events occurred inside. Most of this discussion happened after we arrived at my host family's house. It would be considered middle class. They have a car, running water, cable and I have my own room. No hot water though, I have to ask one of the house-helps to heat some up for me. There are two of them. Both are about fourteen and completing junior high. All levels of school are not free in Ghana, so, many girls become house-helps. They cook and clean for a family and the family houses them and pays for their schooling. Last summer I got into a discussion with our tour guide Damba about house-helps. He said many women don't want them in the homes especially if the wife works because, men have cheated on their wives with the young girls in the home. The father of my host family is a pastor so, I hope that doesn't happen. Since they have two house-helps they must have more money than most. Last summer I wanted to go to a church but didn't. I'm glad that I will be able to here since they are a church family. They have a huge picture of a white Jesus in the living room. I decided my first day is probably too early to ask them how they feel about that image.