Final Post

Hey everybody,

In a few days I will be leaving Ghana, on my way back home to Brazil. The following is my final blog post; an update posted on the Princeton Bridge Year Program's website (byp.princeton.edu).

This nine-month adventure was briefly recorded here, and I am very grateful for all of you who took their time to read a little about Ghana, my experiences and thoughts. Keeping the blog was a lot of fun, and a great writing experience, one that complemented my Bridge Year invaluably.

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. Though I will not be updating the blog after the trip, any e-mails with questions, criticism or ideas are very welcome! (hn.defreitas@gmail.com)

All the best!

Henrique Kwame











A failed experiment. If before living for four months in the small farming village of Oguaa I had envisioned my final results as my students earning a failing average on their Math district exams, and building six broken water filters, “a failed experiment” is how I would have labeled my stay in the village. 

 

When we moved to Oguaa, I was determined to test myself by seeking out challenges that I could not face elsewhere. In the mornings, I taught at the school with the most students, highest student-teacher ratio and lowest pass rate in our area; in the afternoons I started a bio-sand water filter project, to bring clean drinking water for underprivileged communities in other parts of Ghana.

Every morning I took the ten-minute bike ride to Senchi, a neighboring town where I taught at the Junior High School (JHS). I focused on Math and English with Form 1, the equivalent of seventh grade, but also assisted in a few other subjects in the other Forms. The school is in disarray – there are not enough textbooks and no electricity, and teachers work if and when they please, with no consequences imposed by the headmaster. Since a two-week national strike in March, the teachers at Senchi have yet to fully reassume their responsibilities, two months later. But these examples of developmental gaps were already implicit in this type of service placement. I believed I would be able to power through such barriers; to bring knowledge-hungry students, whose curiosity had been ignored, to successful results.

Grading the Mathematics District Exams for my Form 1 class illustrated my general teaching experience. In a class of 52, only three got the six simple problems of addition and subtraction of fractions correct. I taught this single topic, which had already been covered by Ghanaian teachers in the previous grade and in the past term, three times. I used drawings, paper models, metaphors and skits; I gave homework, class exercises and answered questions. But when it came to the test, more than forty students still decided 2/4 was the answer to ½ + ½. Some of my students worked hard in school and came to extra classes, but even most of these would forget by the next day how to calculate the area of a rectangle.

My students presented a pattern of asking less questions and making few to no suggestions in class - a general lack of curiosity. This was particularly odd because our relationship outside of class was very much friendly and playful. Nonetheless, they retained very little information beyond memorized definitions. The fact that other teachers and my Bridge Year friends identified the same problem only in Senchi JHS made it more enigmatic. In other schools students had reasoning abilities similar to what you would expect from a fourteen-year-old, and were capable of quickly learning from mistakes when exposed to new topics. My students, even when coming to voluntary extra classes, seemed to be driven by a desire to do the right thing as opposed to actually wanting to learn - being present, not active, in the classroom.

After school, I worked on just as challenging a task as teaching. Each afternoon I walked to an empty building in the Oguaa JHS, which the community permitted me to use as a workshop. I saw moving to the village as an opportunity to do something I had never done before - to start a project in which I would be responsible for every stage, from planning to implementation. I chose to build concrete water filters that use sand to purify drinking water, following blueprints from CAWST, a Canadian NGO. These filters are simple to operate, easy to maintain and relatively cheap, but the building process is a different story. The challenges began in building the metal mold, the basis of the entire project. Materials weren’t available in the village, and the nearest welder lived a 45-minute drive away, though this was simple to address. It was the imprecision in the construction process that threatened to compromise the final product. Need to flatten a plate? Beat it with a hammer. Drill a hole? Melt through the metal. Cut the metal plates? No machine, take a hammer and chisel.

 

Improvising a little, with close supervision and strict standards, we finished the mold. With construction materials secured, I had a full month to build the concrete bodies and fill them with the layers of clean sand for filtration. I started by testing different ratios on mixing concrete, which ended with a couple of crumbling filters as a result. Soon a proper ratio of sand and gravel was achieved, only to be met by insufficiently strong metal parts - the extractor piece unexpectedly bent to the weight of the concrete. Since the number of days left in the village was limited, I had to respond immediately to any unpredicted setbacks. In this instance I set out immediately to the welders' workplace, to reinforce the structure of the extractor by welding extra pieces of metal. This fixed that particular issue, but what then gave way was the bolt that connected the extractor to the mold - the threads were smoothed down by the sheer force of trying to extract the concrete body.

Such was the dynamic throughout the building process. A problem would arise - needing replacement bolts, a bigger wrench and a longer extractor, for example - and I would work out a solution within the same afternoon: long trips to the city for new pieces, reinforcing the mold at the welders' workshop, or sawing off lengths of metal. Building the filters did not allow time to bask in minor successes - the work just refused to follow what was predicted in the blueprint. For a month I started every afternoon fixing a problem, only for a new one to arise by evening. Though I was able to solve each setback as it surfaced, this delayed the process, and our time in the village ended before I was able to complete the water filters.

Both building and teaching brought renewed difficulties every day. Though I molded my expectations to the reality of my students' performance, my confidence was still hit with each failed homework assignment I marked. Similarly, there was always something needing to be fixed with the water filters. My stay in the village eventually became punctuated by questionings of, “is this going anywhere?" and, "what am I learning here?". There were stretches of time when teaching and working became mechanical, not joyful; when it was difficult to bike to school or to carry tools into the workshop. That, however, was precisely the greatest challenge - to maintain the same effort regardless of circumstances. When teaching seemed ineffective, I forced myself to plan lessons more thoroughly and teach them with twice the dedication. If a part of the mold broke, I would not allow myself to react to it until I had planned a solution and was sitting in a trotro half an hour later, heading to the city of Kumasi to find a replacement.

The two halves of my service work combined to intensify both the difficulties and the lessons of the four months in Oguaa. I did not come into Senchi JHS thinking I could modify the entire educational system, but I did believe I could change some minds. Though many of the problems I encountered remain aspects of the daily reality of my students, I do view my efforts as having come to fruition. I instituted a library system, which the students have been using frequently, and the teachers have agreed to keep running. By April, my Form 1 students proudly chanted "don't copy, create!" whenever given a homework assignment. Many indicated by coming to extra classes and working more diligently than in January, that our conversations in between classes were meaningful enough for them to rethink the importance of education. Though some effects may not be fully visible now, I believe they will impact my students’ educational paths in time.

Starting the water filter project independently yielded more than learning how to weld metal and mix concrete - I had to plan and implement every step, dealing with unexpected situations as the project developed. I also had to manage a budget and be creative to work around it, envisioning the longer-term needs of the project.

Though it did not work this year, the project is now set up for future Bridge Year Ghana groups to continue, and will hopefully provide drinking water to poor communities in the North of Ghana.

The four months in Oguaa might have represented the greatest test I have yet faced. Because the challenges stemmed from personal choices, and I was held to personal standards only, there was no benchmark to affirm "the job is done". The outcomes of both ventures were different from what I would have envisioned, as I faced repeated trials - and failures - in a short period of time. But I got through each one consistently, which brought a different sense of accomplishment - one of having battled through difficult times, in a way I can be proud of.

Vacation Extra Classes

Hi everyone,

In the last post I mentioned that the past month and a half of teaching had been mentally burdening. Teaching in itself is a complex vocation, defined by how well you grasp the subject, how clearly you can explain it, and how fully you understand your students' needs. The latter I am yet to have a complete grasp on, even after almost four months at Senchi JHS.

Throughout the term, I taught several subjects (check my first post on teaching), but concentrated mostly on English and Math in Form 1, the equivalent of 7th grade. Most of students have language as a great barrier towards learning, as they speak Twi in their houses and outside of class, but are expected to learn from textbooks in English. Comprehension was a problem, especially in the beginning, but with a few tweaks to my accent this was quickly overcome.

No, communication was not the source of what really frustrated me. The real problem was much greater - the students did not seem to learn.

Take fractions as an example. When I took over the Math class the students had already learned fractions in the previous year, in the Primary School, and earlier that year with their Ghanaian teacher. So when I did a review-game a month in, I was caught a bit off-guard when they could not add fractions. Easy enough to solve, right? I taught a one-hour class on fractions, gave some homework exercises and figured we were done.

The homework results were, at the most, disappointing. The exercises were simple problems of addition and subtraction of fractions, but hardly any of the 52 students got above a 50%.

Of course, I took this as a flaw in my teaching method, and decided to try again. The next day, we went over fractions again, this time cutting and drawing block models to represent equivalent fractions and how you can add them.

"Any questions? Are you sure you understand it all?", I asked as always at the end of a lesson. One of the things I repeated over and over to my students was that any questions would be answered regardless of how many times it was asked.
"No, sir!" some of the students replied. Not many, enough that I repeated the question to the whole class, then go around to individually ask the students who usually have more difficulties.

From the last five minutes of that class, I would have imagined the previous three times they were taught fractions were just flukes, and now the problem was solved.

Fast forward to last week, when I was teaching a group of twelve students from Form 1, for extra classes during their vacation. In a fairly balanced representation of the best and intermediate students from the class, seven out of the twelve students gave the answer of 1/2 + 1/2 as 2/4.



Fractions is just an example. A similar kind of near-zero retention of information repeated itself in topics such as area and perimeter, similes and metaphors, and verbs in third person.
As a teacher, and even more as a volunteer, I immediately took it as something I must change about how I was doing my work. Every week I tried to bring a different kind of example in teaching something new, changing the pace and difficulty of exercises, giving more or less homework. The results hardly ever changed,  and the small fluctuations in my teaching never allowed me to feel fully comfortable or accomplished with my work.

After term, we started a three-week extra classes program, to teach new topics and revise what was covered in the past three months. For most of the time, I had a group of about ten students from Form 1, and took them to a Primary School classroom for a smaller space.
In such a reduced group it was easier to keep the class calm, and to observe the results of teaching.

Primary classroom

This was also a great opportunity to investigate why my students seemed to not be learning, even in comparison with the other four schools my Bridge Year friends teach in.
I reviewed topics taught only by their Ghanaian teachers, but the results were similar. Oduro, a Ghanaian teacher who lives in Oguaa came one morning to teach summary writing for English, so I could observe if the students responded differently. They did not, and he also expressed surprise at how little background information my students seemed to have, and how they were not too eager to participate.

I would summarize the problem by saying my students seem to lack curiosity. Though they came to extra classes during vacation, after I visited each one in their homes to urge them to come, their commitment to actually participating and working was generally lacking.

For a day, I switched with Pallavi in Oguaa JHS. From this I had an opportunity to teach other kids at the same level, and to have another opinion on how my students fared in class. In Oguaa, I taught the same lessons I had in Senchi: energy sources, and single-variable equations. There students were more perceptive and quicker in reasoning; developing the lesson with me, instead of waiting to copy notes from the board.
The main difference I noted, was the students in Oguaa had reasoning abilities similar to what you would expect from 14-year-olds, and soon learned from mistakes even if not previously exposed to a topic.
Meanwhile in Senchi, Pallavi told me my kids took an hour and a half to get through six fraction exercises.

The class in Oguaa

The extent to which this problem has bothered me accounts to the single greatest challenge I've faced in the village. My Form 1 students seem to be in a completely different level than those from other schools, and I have not figured out why.

I've come up with plenty of hypotheses, but none seem to cover it all. The school is very poorly managed, and neither students or teachers are held accountable for quality work. Being more a town than a village, Senchi has less of a community feel, which shows in their relationships, attendance and punctuality. Lastly, the Primary School in Senchi always seems to have children running around outside, instead of in the classrooms.

My students have clearly improved in their language skills, covered all the topics assigned for the term and done plenty of revisions. They gained an interest in reading storybooks from the library, stopped copying in their homework assignments, and hopefully rethought the importance of education after a few talks. I hope to have helped redirect the path of some of my students; and I do believe I did.
Bismark never wavers in participating, and was often the only hand raised in a class of 52 (literally).
Frank was an intermediate student, and ended up getting the highest marks in both the Math and English exams.
Mary was a big-time troublemaker, and by the end was the silence-enforcer in Form 1.

But I leave with something still unanswered.

Searching for an answer occupied my mind for most of the last three months. Accepting that I might not have one, seems to be the upcoming challenge.

Sitting with my students as they prepared for their exams, three weeks ago, I felt satisfied. Though too many days had near-the-brink frustrations, I felt I had become personally connected with the students, like we were fighting in the same mission, like they carried a part of me in them. A new kind of affection, not of a friend and not of a sibling, but of a teacher.

Still looking,

Mr. Kwame

On Blogging

Hey there, still alive!

I apologize for the nearly two month gap on blogging. Though internet access is a little more restricted in the village, I would relate my absence to time-consuming activities. Teaching and building the filters take up pretty much all the time when the sun is still out. Of course a few hours would be left to blog, and this is where I've reached a slump - getting past and reconciling the challenges has been draining. I now do feel I should have powered through and written a few lines, but that writing would neither be informative, as I have aimed for in this blog, nor insightful, for I hadn't come to significant conclusions yet.

During this time, I re-thought what this blog has meant to me. As I said, the goal of it was to be informative about Ghana and its culture, from the perspective of a Brazilian student who has visited several other countries. It was meant to be an efficient means of communication with friends and family back at home, while registering some significant experiences. I did not think of it as a reasoning exercise, where I would learn something as I was writing. Usually I had an hour's internet time to post, and what came out were the facts and a few (hopefully witty) jokes. 

In retrospective, I am a little upset I did not put more personal analysis into the posts. Though I believe I did a good job in conveying facts and images of Ghana in an open manner, I do not think the posts are a fair reflection of what I have learned from the past eight (!) months. I wrote about excursions and general work routine - I did not write about shifting my feelings of compassion from victimized impoverished people towards individuals who battle to change their realities regardless of disadvantages. I did not write about Wisdom, a young coconut seller from Accra who, without a high school education, asked me how he should go about becoming the President of Ghana to make people aware of the social inequalities in his country. I never mentioned the frustrations in dealing with mediocre standards - sadly a common characteristic in many developing nations - facing professionals with a motto of "it's ok, it's ok".

These are honestly some of the most significant experiences I had in Ghana; definitely ones that gave me much more trouble sleeping at night than learning traditional dances, or visiting a cultural center ever did. These are the valuable lessons I will take from Ghana. Sure, I'll be carrying a huge kpanlogo on my back and some nice batik shirts, but that was part of the fun, not of the painful rebuilding of ideas and beliefs.

Blogging was not a catalyst to meaningful conclusions, though I am sure that was the purpose intended to it when Scott, one of our Program Directors, suggested it during orientation at Princeton. But I take back saying "I am a little upset I did not put personal analysis into the posts". My reflections of Ghana came from introspective thought, Sunday night phone talks with my family, and conversations with my Bridge Year friends - blogging was a parallel activity, aimed at the receptors. 

At times it is hard to pin-point what has changed in me, and the blog is a concrete where I could (in theory) observe that. But it is unfair for me to take this blog as the measure of how big of an impact Bridge Year Ghana has had in me. Searching for examples of change is even an unnatural process, since true change transforms you regardless of whether it is identified and put into words or not.

Look at that, I learned something through the writing process. The transformations are ingrained in me, just not registered here in this blog. 

For once, this post is for me, not just for you.

Much love,

Henrique

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

Princeton Update

Update: I sincerely apologize for the full month gap in posting. However, there will be compensations coming soon!

 

Ghanaians often pass on wisdom through proverbs and metaphors based on their folklore. Kpanlogo, a popular drum and music rhythm, is one such tradition. For three months I have learned from local master-drummers and participated in a workshop to build my own instrument. Although I had something of a musical background before, learning kpanlogo was a completely different process. In Western music, there are endless ways in which a musician can perform a style. Jazz, for example, has characteristics that define its identity, but the execution remains open for creation. Inventiveness is part of what makes a musician unique.

 

In traditional Ghanaian drumming, on the other hand, each rhythm or style has a correct order and technique. Improvisation has limited space, and even specific dance steps go with the beat. Also, there is no such thing as composing a new kpanlogo rhythm; it was created and is played with very little variation.

 

Many aspects of cultural learning follow this pattern; the process is centered on emulating the “correct way” of doing things, according to each culture. In Ghana specifically, you must eat with your right hand only, excuse yourself and greet every time you cross paths with someone, and pronounce words with the correct intonation, lest they become meaningless. As a visitor eager to be treated as a local but conscious of always being seen as a foreigner, replicating customs trumps combining them with a Western background. Thus, adapting to live as a Ghanaian has in many ways been like learning to play kpanlogo: learning and reproducing the rhythm. Following a reasonably clear set of expectations as an oburoni in Ghana, I tried as many aspects of the culture as possible – studying traditional Adinkra symbols and their meanings, sampling any local dishes (rat soup on a really brave afternoon), and elbowing as much as the next person for a spot in a trotro van during rush hour.

My approach towards service work in Accra diverged from my approach to cultural learning. The four months were split between SISS, a grassroots vocational-training NGO, and DAI – AFRICA LEAD, an agricultural development training project for leaders across sectors in West Africa. In both places I aimed to understand and tackle issues from a local perspective. The biggest challenge, however, was to deliver results despite obstacles from developmental lags. I found it more effective to work through my previously built personal expectations and ways of thinking. This led to what I believe will be a valuable perspective adjustment, a more objective analysis on poverty and on which means are most effective in dealing with it. Social entrepreneurship and development work are often under-scrutinized because of their altruistic ends, by both developed and developing nations, as if doing a good deed nullifies the obligation to execute well. Indifference to results contributes to the present inefficiency of development work. I believe the importance of the ends calls for a combination of the local understanding with inventive action.

 

In the many facets that Ghanaian and Western cultures and realities differ, music is one that holds many parallels to what I have experienced and learned in Accra. Through apparently opposing ways of thinking – liberty of creation and mirroring of traditions – Ghana has provided the stage for testing each method. I am still unsure whether the cultural aspects of this experience will influence my set of beliefs as much as the service placement has. While the daily life in Ghana has been like kpanlogo drumming, applying the experiences will be done in more of a ”blues improvisation” manner – no actual patterns to follow, just a harmony to refer to.