Macy

I am new to this “development” line of work, but I would presume immediate gratification does not occur frequently, and, if it does, it will crack upon deeper reflection: Those expedient tasks which are successful may only skirt the real problem at hand or, worse, reinforce it. Other tasks that ought to be simple and effective are intolerably slowed by the ingrained flaws of the system. So when I tell you that, one month into my Ghana experience, I have just experienced near-immediate gratification in dealing with one particular child at our school—and that this gratification will endure my deepest reflections—you must understand how lucky I feel.

The child is a nine year old girl named Macy. Many of these children are cute, but she’s certainly top 5. She is unbearably sweet, and her smile melts the room. She also happens to be completely deaf. She has been attending the school here—one which is not equipped to educate children who can hear, much less those who can’t.

I have tried in small ways to include her in my classes, and she has clearly been appreciative: In my first week, she  brought me a present nearly every day. The best was a huge bag of oranges from her family farm. A different day, I was helping the kids cut the grass before school with machetes and, as always, sweating profusely. Before returning to class, I asked one of the teachers if I could borrow her handkerchief to dry off. Macy saw this, and, in the afternoon, she handed me an envelope with the words written, “Your gift.” There was a brand new handkerchief inside.

I assumed that schools for the deaf were hard to come by in this rural region, but I decided to inquire anyway, as I knew Ghana’s government is actually relatively supportive of the disabled. As luck would have it, I found out the regional school for the deaf is in Hohoe, only a twenty-minute drive from the village! Upon this discovery, I was determined to get Macy into that school as fast as possible. I felt every day was another day wasted when, only twenty minutes away, there was a school for the deaf—and, as it turns out, a rather prestigious one at that—waiting for her. Of course, she is just one of nine children in a poor farming family, and so the fees quickly became the obvious roadblock.

And Ghana bureaucracy didn’t help either. Everything becomes so damn complicated here. As required, we took her into town the following Monday morning to the government testing facilities to have all her senses tested. However, for inexplicable reasons, most of the staff was absent, including all those who test for hearing. They insisted on proceeding, nonetheless, and she went home that day having only her VISION tested: A completely deaf girl who uses her eyes as the primary means to communicate, and they only test her vision—sick. They ought to test their own senses next time.

Anyway, after a series of hic-ups, a little diligence finally paid off. Today, I took the father and Macy—a very, very excited Macy, who carried her traveling bag around our school in the morning to show her classmates and say goodbye—to the new school where she will board for the next 9 months. We have managed to procure a sponsorship for her from our organization to cover half the fees, and the appreciative and truly elated father has promised to cover the rest. In the taxi on the way, she was on my lap (no car here travels with less than two passengers per seat, it’s the law) and we were practicing the sign language alphabet from a small booklet I picked up—we are now five letters in to her new world.

Okay, so it took three weeks, but I still consider this gratification to be remarkably immediate for something that will have a positive impact on her entire education (she can stay at the school through senior studies and even vocational training) and her subsequent life. If I fail to do anything productive this  year for my own school back in the village, I will sleep well at night knowing Macy is not there anymore. I will miss her though.