Water Filter Project - Building The Mould

To start building the water filter mould, I went on a scouting trip to Effiduasi, the nearest town. There I asked construction material shop-keepers for a welder, and luckily enough found a workshop nearby. Through the two weeks it took to transform metal plates into a steel mould, an assistant welder named Sadat was my companion. The positive impression I had from him started when he punctually met me at 5am to buy materials, and followed through his ownership presence on the project. His attention to detail applied not only to his own workmanship, but to that of his colleagues as well. More than once I saw Sadat urging another worker to stop welding, in order to re-align the plates that had been moved a few millimeters. Sadat's mostly silent presence was untrue to his friendliness, which extended to voluntarily calling to check if my transport had been late, and coming along the final twenty-minute drive from Effiduasi to Oguaa to bring the mould home.




Sadat

The first challenge of the project came before any welding had even started: buying materials. Because the metal plates were not available in the required thickness in Effiduasi, Sadat and I scheduled a trip to Kumasi. After a few hours of commuting and combing alleys of metal junkyards, we found two of the three plates for sale at a warehouse. The third one, and the thickest, was only available for eight times the size the mould required, at 280ghc. An estimation of price George, the head welder, had given me proved to not be very accurate - there were 30ghc left.

Bargaining, persistance and luck.

It was noon and the sun reflected almost blingingly on the metal waiting in front of the scrap shops. After over three sweaty hours of questioning and searching through piles of scrap metal, Sadat dug out a piece large and thick as needed. This was the third one so far, but the others had been too rusty to even consider using as a means to purifying water. Refreshingly, this one had been painted and the coating had resisted through time enough that one side was not rusted. The price was brought down to 18ghc, leaving us daringly far from an easy price on transportation back to Effiduasi.



The last plate was found under these piles.

By chance, the security guard at the first warehouse and I had talked for about ten minutes while I was waiting for the manager. When Sadat and I met him on our way to collect the plates, upon learning of our situation he called a friend of his, who after some convincing agreed to take us for the money we had left.

Every day after teaching I would drive in a "shared taxi" to Effiduasi to help (mostly watch) the progress on the mould. When I got into the car, I was usually tired enough that I would fall asleep to the wind through the jammed open windoms. Admittedly, getting to the workshop took effort. But as soon as I touched a plate or heard the prickling sound of metal being melted in welding, the feeling turned into an eagerness for creation. To witness the plates be taken from awaiting in Kumasi to a tower ready to be put to use brought a different kind of satisfaction - executing a process of concrete creation.

There were challenges unacounted for in planning. Having to cut precise measurements by chisel and hammer, and the plates not being as straight and flat as called for on the plans were two major issues we had to contour. Improvizing a little, with close supervision and strict standards, we finished the mould.

Over the next few weeks I'll keep writing about the project: how building the actual filters goes and their implementation.

All the best!

Henrique

Water Filter Project - The Idea

One of the reasons I came to Ghana was to study more about development. In the past months, however, social entrepreneurship has struck as me both a more challenging and more effective means to a similar end. I felt lucky, when halfway through my time volunteering at DAI, I learned that per company policy interns are paid a transportation stipend. I was about to receive a considerable ammount - one which I neither expected or had any need for, and decided to do something meaningful with it. The move to the village of Oguaa was about a month away, and these factors naturally combined. I began to research community projects that would be relevant to the village, while fitting the budget, time frame and level of expertise (zero).

Try googling something like "African village project" to see how many results come up. There were plenty of options to look into, from building composting latrines to new houses. Many options would live up to the "uniqueness" of a community project in a village. At first I considered building a Ventilated Improved Pit latrine (VIP), which is not only environmentally safe, it also provides fertilizer after a year of waiting (there's more to the process, naturally). My budget, however, would sufice for roughly one pit. Not exactly what could be seen as effective, as a community project or as a learning experience.

I analyzed other options, and a single kind of project stood out: bio sand water filters.
Built out of concrete, these filters use layers of sand to purify water by around 99 percent of pathogens, bacteria and viruses. Simple to operate, easy to maintain and relatively cheap, this was the project I was looking for.
In Oguaa, the school building is decadent, there is no sewage system, no running water, and the nearest clinic is fifteen minutes away. The population nonetheless is considerably healthy and prosperous - daily life poses no ever-present unbearable turbulences. What indeed should be improved in the village are mostly structural and policy issues, that need to be adressed through government action. While I was aware that borehole water was likely safe to drink (though the storage practices are not adequate), I was equally aware that with my budget I could not hope to tar the roads, install pipes or build a hospital. The fact that the experience of undertaking such a project would not be available to me in the next years of college was a deciding factor in choosing to go through with the filters.

My research sources were mainly CAWST and biosandfilter.org, two NGOs. From these I also got building plans, and combined characteristics from the two to cut down on costs and to fit the available materials.

The initial idea was to built a metal mould, so more filters could be constructed in the future. At first I thought of selling the filters as a possible income-source to the village, as the mould would remain in Oguaa after I left. However low the cost of filters, it would be an unacessible luxury to those who do not have access to clean drinking water. The project would thus involve only one mould, which would allow for the construction of 3-5 filters.

Upon arriving at the village, I sent the borehole water for testing at the Ghana Water Company laboratory in Kumasi. Fortunately, the results came as expected and proved the water is completely safe for consumption. The circumstances led to a change of direction - to take the filters to where there is a more pressing need: the north of Ghana. While I am still building the filters in Oguaa, and will give some to any resident who might need its use, the aim is to bring them to a village in the North when we go to Tamale as part of the program.

Next post I'll write about the process to build the mould, the first step on the actual project.

Take care!

Henrique

Teaching J.H.S.

Hey there, still blogging!
Before anything else: internet access living in the village is a luxury. Thus, to blog I must commute for at least thirty minutes to a place where the internet seems to be fueled by firewood...
The conditions have shown it will not be possible to maintain a once-a-week blogging pattern. I hope to write a few entries in advance, and keep the blog updated every two weeks at least.

Now, onto business...

The second half service component of the Bridge Year Program in Ghana is to teach at a local Junior High School (the equivalent to middle school). I was assigned to Senchi J.H.S., a thirty minute walk from Oguaa.
Senchi is a village bordering on town-status, with a paved main road dividing it in half. Nonetheless, the simple four-room school presents as many structural challenges as it does educational ones.

From the very first day at Senchi, the gaps were clear. Staff was generally unmotivated, to the point where teachers would not attend some of their periods claiming to be "tired", seen as justifiable by the headmaster. Management is not assisting much with indifference to teaching quality, explaining the previous year's poor results by claiming students were lazy.
The building has incomplete walls (a serious noise issue during classes), floors with gaping holes of sand, and no electricity. School supplies also add to the daily challenges of the students - books are fewer than the number required and desks are too small for many of the teenagers.

Clearly, the developmental lags would largely define the teaching experience, as they would in most public schools back home. Also, believing three months is too short of a time to expect to generate considerable academic impact, the idea of teaching led mostly to an expectation to measure and tune students' views on the importance of education and hard work. I arrived at Senchi thinking an appreciation for the power of education could change a student's life, while an extra ten percent grade wouldn't.

Within a week I became responsible for teaching 25% of the school's periods, divided amongst Forms 1 to 3, mostly English and Math, but also with Science, ICT and Library periods. Curiously enough, there is no computer, and neither could one work without electricity. There are some donated library books, which were locked in a back office. For all the academic year, not a single book had been checked out. "The students don't want to read", claimed the teachers.

Offering students the books during English periods proved to do the trick. In two days the ten storybooks I brought to school had been checked out, with waitlists forming. This was enough to convince the teachers, and a library system has been started. Though the books are not allowed to be stored in the classrooms, children accompany a teacher to the backroom and sign for a novel of their choice.
The main difference of this can be seen during "free" periods, where a handful of students now voluntarily take out their books and read. This is pleasure in learning, as opposed to doing it by fear, in a system where corporal punishment is the manner of discipline.

After a few weeks of teaching, I had to review my methods and expectations of students. While trying to instill the importance of participating in class and completing homework, I required that each individual worked up to their best effort. Though a few students were fueled by this strong demand, most didn't respond at all. These children work every day to help with their family's income. In their situation, education is an investment with very far-off dividends, while working in the family farm or selling snacks is an immediate need. I unfairly demanded that young, working teenagers focus on their schoolwork like full-time students.

I've been adapting myself according to how the students respond to daily tweaks in my teaching style - less discipline, more autonomy over homework, more playful lessons. This has been a continuous process, one that is also not immediately rewarding. Controlling noisy classes of 50 students, ages ranging from twelve to eighteen, takes absolute constant effort. If you indulge in lowering your voice, students at the back respond by sleeping. If a question is taking someone a little longer to answer, the other 49 will disperse in seconds. Interestingly enough, if you forfeit any signs of annoyance, amused laughter follows.

Teaching has nonetheless brought moments of tremendous joy, particularly one time when the Form 1 class spontaneously started cheering for themselves, after a student correctly demonstrated the significance of pi (π). Students also genuinely want to be friends with the oburoni teacher, and bring gifts of fruit, or offer company for the walk home.

This aspect, as much as the below-average performance of the school, works as a possible trap to be caught in. At the end of the day, teaching at Senchi is my work, which means the passion into it must go into improving my performance. Proving that learning can be done for fun, helping to sensitize teachers to the full range of their influence, and convincing students that a thirty percent passing-average is not nearly enough are not concrete results - they cannot be grasped or measured for daily motivation. Adjusting to the students' needs is made more difficult, for these are nearly overwhelming when compared to their age and grade. Working through the daily bumps, continuity is the main challenge.

By April, when term ends, I hope to follow-up with some success stories. However, if any effects indeed prove to be meaningful, they would be felt by the next Princeton Bridge Year student. My main goal at Senchi is not to make sure every students makes it to the next Form, but to instill in as many as possible the intrinsic motivation to fight for another two levels of education.

Back to blogging, 

Kwame