Nothing and Everything

About Nothing Of Importance (written 11/09)

I just felt like writing about my lunch today and wasn’t going to put it online, but I thought why not. I promised a few of you no effusive poetry about Africa and the world, but I never said I wouldn’t put up mundane descriptions of nothing in particular, so bare with me…

I exited the Immigration Office through a small parking lot and into a courtyard of gravel and unkempt grass. An array of cement-block government buildings, like the one I had just left, sat around the perimeter in no particular order, each 3-4 stories high with the typical cross-iron windows. They reminded me of cheap motels in Florida, but here they are the preeminent, modern buildings that house the district capitol offices for the Volta Region.

Like any open space in Ghana that has even the most minute chance of snaring a passer-by, several vendors had set up shop in the shade of the trees selling various snacks and trinkets. At one stand, a woman stood inside something reminiscent of a ticket booth serving food through a square opening. I decided I was hungry enough for lunch, and so I went to scout it out. I found her dishing beans and fried plantains out of a set of large pots and pans. There were a few benches set out in front to allow customers to dine in. I ordered the food in Ewe to practice/show off (Ewe is the language they speak in the Volta Region and I’m trying to, at least, get down the basics), and she laughed unashamedly out loud.

“Peppe?” She asked as she began scooping out a large helping. Her benign tone masked the grave danger of the word. Too much peppe sauce can disintegrate your insides before you can mouth the word “W-A-T-E-R.”

“Small, small.” I switched to English, given the importance of the question. Well, their English. I have quickly adapted their version. In their version, important words are often repeated twice.

“Gari?” She continued. (Ground cassava.)

“Plenty!” It really mixes well with the beans, adding a starch to offset the mush.

I sat down on a nearby bench with my bowl and a coke and took out a book. The attendant in the Immigration Office said the paperwork for my Visa extension would take 2-3 hours, so I anticipated 4-6. In any case, I certainly had time for a leisurely lunch.

After an hour of reading and intermittent chatting with the woman (we established we were both born on Monday, a very relevant fact given that friends and family here use nicknames for each other based on the day of the week they’re born), I paid my fee and even left a tip. Tips aren’t heard of around here, but, then again, I’m rich (comparatively), and the bill was roughly 70 cents. And, plus, it was a very pleasant lunch.

 About Everything of Importance (written 11/16)

Now for the real update...

I have just returned from the house of the chief, or “Na-Na.” His house is made of cement and modest in size but towers over the mud huts and thatched roofs one passes to reach it. It is my third visit in a week—there is something of a crisis looming at the school in his village. The school director has made official, through a letter to my NGO director which he read to me as courtesy before sending it, that he refuses to effectively all the terms that were asked of him in return for our support (terms which he previously agreed to). He refuses to limit class size or prohibit corporal punishment. He cites as his reasons a long history of failed partnerships between foreign and African entities, but I know that his main reason is desire for all the money he has seen flow into the school now that we are here (As an aside, because I have studied the history of abusive Western organizations in Africa, I find it particularly offensive when he willfully misuses it to justify his own greed).  Of course, in concluding, he wrote that he encourages us to continue helping his school, so long as we can “compromise” with him.

My NGO director, Ellen, received the letter, and she, Myles (the other volunteer), and I talked things over. Understandably, Ellen doesn’t want to work with an obstinate partner when there are so many other schools in need. On the other hand, leaving aside the sentimental stuff, Myles and I don’t want to give up on this community. We have seen the warm welcome we have received here, the great need, and the potential for a prosperous partnership with the school. In fact, I did some calculations and, even with no financial support from the NGO, the school fees we are bringing in now would cover the all the necessary expenditures, including paying teachers and the headmaster higher wages than what they are taking now (this is big because the school has operated at a loss throughout most of its ten years in existence). The hitch is that the finances are only stable if the NGO maintains some type of presence to entice the parents to continue to enroll their children and if there is no director siphoning off money. The problem is that with the current director, neither condition can be met. The only way would be to buy him out.

Which is exactly what we are trying now, through some delicate politicking. Alas, this is the final attempt to salvage the situation and, if it fails (which is likely), I will most likely have to volunteer at a different school after Christmas break. Here is the basic premise: The chief and community fully support our NGO and don’t want us to leave. The teachers are unhappy with their very low wages and are threatening to quit if the director does not provide them their promised raises at the end of the month. Most parents will withdraw their children if we leave, and the director will go back to operating at a loss. Finally, the director has made clear in the past his interest in selling the school to save his pocket book.

 In other words, we have a lot of bargaining power. The basic idea would be to have some sort of board of directors, made up of village elders and in collaboration with myself and Ellen, buy the school back and run it as a community school with our support. There are a lot of details that I have been considering that would have to be worked out for proper accountability, but the basic principles we are banking on are (1) the school director recognizes his own desperate circumstances and is willing to sell at a reasonable price and (2) that the village elders would see the benefits to the community to having a well-run school amongst an otherwise completely failing local education system and therefore would willingly and honestly collaborate with us to get there. Over time, this relationship between our NGO and the community would bring more possibilities to help them prosper in a more organic and complete way than even the most successful partnerships the NGO has had at other schools.

But I am getting ahead myself. As I said, I just returned from meeting the chief. I found him sitting idly on a lawn chair in his portico dressed in a (disappointingly) unceremonious, checkered, button-down shirt. He greeted me warmly, and we went through the perfunctory introductions I have learned are not only customary, but necessary. Then, I told the chief that Ellen, my director, had sent the school director the letter refusing his “revised” conditions and informing him of our imminent departure (a bluff that may, unfortunately, become true). This is part of the plan, one which the chief and I devised in our last meeting (I find him to be remarkably cunning and understanding of NGO partnership intricacies). In the letter, Ellen would be mentioning that, in the interest of the community, she had given me the go ahead to inform the chief that our partnership would be ending. This was a calculated move so that, when the chief “invites”—commands—the director to come meet him to discuss why the NGO is leaving his community, the director wouldn’t feel it is a surprise attack, a coup d’état contrived by his foreign partners (which is partially what it is, although the chief and elders do genuinely want to find a way to keep us here… so it’s only that we have to present the initiative as led by them with our assistance, rather than the other way around).  I will be absent from their meeting so that the chief and the director can discuss more openly the opportunities to salvage the situation, and the hope would be that the director will raise the option of selling himself. Afterward, the chief will call on me and we will meet.  If he does show interest in selling, the chief and I would subsequently have to convince the community leaders to raise some money themselves for the purchase, since my NGO wants to assist them to do it rather than simply buy it for them.

It’s a bold move, but we are all out of options. At least, I hope I can sleep well knowing that I have done all I could. I am very tired of this saga. Whatever happens, whether I stay here or go to another school, I hope I can just focus on teaching next term. I didn’t think I would get so caught up in politics here, but I must say it has truly been an extraordinary experience: maneuvering through this system—one governed by traditional age-grade politics, a confusing spoils system that at once seems hopelessly  corrupt yet efficient and even acceptable, and a strong sense of propriety that often means what is said is not what is meant to be heard—is  a challenge, to say the least.

 Alright, that’s enough for now. Thank you for the encouraging words you have sent. I’m sure that the next time I write, I will know which way the wind is blowing, and whether I’ll be sailing or not. I’m not sure what I personally want anymore, although I do know I am very tired and this instant coffee is just not cutting it…