Astronomy class

Every time that one great trip was over, I felt the anticipation of getting back home, and by home I mean the interns house in Accra. Batteries loaded for a creative school week. 

At that time, the interns at school had doubled and two interns matched each classroom. In mine came a very willing, smiling Chinese boy. The students summoned him "Chineseman" and wellcomed him with Kung-Fu moves. He always smiled at them back and copied their moves.  One day, as I was squeezzing my mind to find a way to capture the attention of our little students, I decided that the only effective way would be an interractive class. So I grabbed an Encyclopedia, I had found in a super market, and opened it randomly. Astronomy it was! Although I had no clue about this exciting science, I looked at the pictures and got an idea. The teacher made the introduction for us to teach. The students kept quiet. The plan was to imitate the rotations of the earth and the sun. I asked Bill (the Chinese boy) to make the Sun, while I would be the Earth, moving around him and around myself at the same time. After a well dizzy three or four rounds and equal time of childish giggles, we gave the flour to the children to show us what they've learnt. "Me, me, me!" Everyone wanted to swirl. So they did! The experiment worked. In the end I asked them "Is the earth moving?" and they knew the answer.

The same night we had a party at home. Next door to our cute place lived a dog. A very strange one. I had well-founded suspicions, that there was something wrong about it. Every night at 12 o'clock the dog barked in a frightening way, as if it was mourning or suffering. I was counting the stars in the endless sky, thinking at my students, when the clock struck 12! Some clouds hid the fullmoon and darkess covered the yard. The dog, or whatever this thing was, started its usual ritual. Standing in the dark alone, hearing this creature's scream, I realized that I had undergone a little transformation. The way I look at the sky will never be the same again. The curious happy faces of my little students will simultaniously come in my mind, no matter where I am. Maybe they will even remember that the planets are moving, when they look at the sky, and giggle at our funny pantomime.

Read More »

Black and white

Half a year ago if someone told me that I would soon test my teaching skills in an African school, I would probably question their mental sanity. Even when I flirted with the idea of an adventurous trip outside Europe, the entire plan felt too distant and utopic. I pictured Africa as a semirealistic place that you could only approach through documentaries. In my mind Africa was wild animals, palm trees and barefoot kids. 

 
It only took a ten hour flight for those misleading documentary pictures to fade away. Ghana is a country of real people who play, dance, work, go to school. The kids at my school are unique little individuals, bearing names as Mary, Patience, Prince, Sheriffa, Christopher, William, Bismark, Deborah, Kelvin.

To start with, it was kind of difficult to learn the names. I had to ask each kid a hundred times "What is your name?". I am getting to it though. It should be noted that twin brother and sister often have the same name. For instance "Sherif-Sheriffa", "Joseph-Josephine". Most of the Ghanians also have European names such as Philip and Fransisca, but there are also some traditional names given like Madwa and Kabu.

two girls playing

Some of my students have made their existence noticeable from the very first day. One of these kids is Mary, a brilliant little girl. She introduced herself right away and asked my name only once. From our first meeting she would always greet me, offer me her snacks and help any way she could. One day, she had an unusual request. 

Mary: Oh, Lilly. You are so pretty! she said caressing my hair

Me: Thank you Mary. You are very beautiful as well.

Mary: No I am not. I wanna ax (=ask) you somethin.

Me: Of course, you are. But tell me, what do you want?.

Mary: I wanna be white..

Me: What are you talking about? I replied astonished

Mary: I want you to use your magic and turn me into a white man like you. Please, please, Lilly.

Me: But you do not need to become white to be pretty. You are already very beautiful, Mary.

Mary: No, You whitemen should make blackmen white, when they ax you. She gets stubborn, trying to explain her argument.

Me: But how would I make you white, Mary? Could you please make me black?

Mary: No I don't have magic, but you do! Please, please, Lilly. I Beggin you. She actually fell on the floor in a begging position.

 
Since that day, every time she sees me she is puting her hands together and looks me straight in the eyes in order to convince me to use my magic and turn her white. My reply is the same every time: If you make me black, I will make you white. She is not satisfied and tries to persuade the other interns to talk to me and change my mind about the issue.

Girls are taking care of a Brazilian intern's hair

In the beginning I became seriously worried. I ran to my Ga friend, whom I always make dizzy with my countless questions and remarks about school. "Why does this clever girl want to be white? Doesn't she love herself the way she is?" Frankly, I was not expecting his reaction. He laughed! He actually found it funny and attributed it to the movies, which intrigues kids' imagination. A lot of girls at this age are carried away by the movies they watch, he added. His explanation was rational and calmed me down a lot, but I cannot defy the impression that little kids in Ghana have about white people and it is not only the kids.
   
"Obrunis" are thought to possess two positive characteristics: beauty and wealth. Although the infatuation from white skin is too incomprehensible for me, the latter attributed characteristic is not completely unfounded. A coeval Ghanian girl with me once told me " You white people are lucky, because you have money. We, black people have rich country, but no money to make use of it." My first response to this was that not all white people are rich. For example, Greece is facing severe financial crisis. Later on, when I had acquired deeper insight in African reality, her words became more sensible, with a little alteration. In the sentence of my Ghanian friend the word "money" should be replaced by the word "means". Right now, in construction's field chinese companies are predominant, the social care is an unknown word, there is no running water and electricity in many households and every time the President passes from the road a ridiculously long procession of expensive jeeps and motorbikes follow his car horning. 

    

Read More »

Alternative teaching methods

Every morning when we make our appearance at school, we encounter some students in front of the wooden table with the snacks, counting carefully their coins and ordering biscuits or juice. They are the first to notice us and call loudly our names with excitement. " Li-lly, Li-lly, Li-lly", sounds like a rhythmic children's song and spreads from class to class successively. The kids shout, laugh and jump at the same time. It is the best start of the day. The most warm wellcome, that reminds me why I had traversed 6.000 km to be in La.
 
On the way to the class, some students climb to the windows and wave their little hands vibrantly. Once I enter the last classroom in the row, one by one my students summon me:
-Lilly...( They expect my response)
-Yes, please?
-You are wellcome! (They say with sparkling black eyes)
The same dialogue is reproduced about twenty times with unabated enthousiasm.
   
The prayer inaugurates the start of the lesson. First comes Maths, according to the timetable pined on the grey wall. Most of the students were assigned to solve little mathematical problems. Just a few though were behind at Maths, so they had an easier task: to write a number repeatedly in a whole page. Due to the minimal furniture of the class, there are no shelves or bookstore to keep the books and the pencils. Instead, everything is located on the teacher's table. The pencils are in fact too small for me to even hold them properly. At the likely event of a broken pencil nose, a cutter is used by the teacher, not a sharpener. The erasers are also so scarce that their value raises vertically. Once the work is completed, the kids come up to the teacher's table to show their colourful books. "I'm finish" they declare. This time, I was armed with thousands of stickers to award each student for his effort. When they see the sticker album they become at once overexcited- rushing to finish their work so they could get a valuable sticker. They intend to use it either as a decoration in their bags, or as a jewellery on their forehead. One is not satisfactory for the most of my little students who are frequently complaining that another classmate was given two stickers, or a bigger or a nicer one than theirs.

When Maths lesson has officially finished and the battle for the stickers as well, plenty of teaching time remains. In order to fill it productively I observe the room around me. Which of these precious little objects could be of any use? Aha! The most classic one. The blackboard! The other teacher announces to the class that I am going to teach them. I take a chalk and draw an empty room on the blackboard. "Who knows what there is in a kitchen?". The enthousiastic students mention many kitchen devices, food, furniture. Then they appear on the blackboard, by my childish drawing skills. Sometimes the roles reverse since my students explain to me many interesting things about Ghanian cuisine and other Ghanian habits. My trick works. They stay focused on the game and ask for more. So, a jungle, zoo, sea, follow.
 
The game triggered our appetite. The ritual of the lunch did not take long to start. Today's menu includes rice with fish in a green sauce.
 

After lunch, a familiar commotion prevails in the school. The dance teacher has arrived by his bycicle, carrying a big drum. Twelve of my students participate with great joy in the graduation's choreography. The sound of the drum, intertwined with the voice of the teacher and the happy kids created a cheerful atmosphere.

Most of the students who did not take part in the dance, remain in the classroom. I am under the opinion that they should be engaged in some equally interesting activity as their classmates. Thus, I tear the pages from the drawing book I had brought from Athens and distribute it. The pages were not enough for everyone though. I suggest that two students share one sheet, which was double-fache, while I and the teacher were copying some of the drawings for the rest of the kids to colour. Fortunately, my coppying skills outweigh my free design ones. In the end, every kid coloured a dragon, a boat, a fairy, a rabbit and many more cartoons. Looking at the bright side, shoestring fosters creativity and unity.
 
At three o clock the school day comes to an end. Every time that I unhang my bag, worried faces look at me and ask :
"Are you goin?".
" I am going home now, but I will come back tomorow."
At the sound of my answer, they regain their usual carefree expression and greet me grining. "Bye. Bye!"

Read More »

My first attempt to teach

The big question before I even commenced my adventure was: how would I manage to teach a classroom of fourty kids, since I was completely irrelevant? I had neither previous education nor experience in this field. I was squizzing my mind to remember what activities we were engaging to when we were at the age of 5. A blury memory of this time includes a song of a dinosaur and some art craft. 

 
I presumed that the stationary would be inadequate at school. Thus I visited a big store in Athens, where you can find pretty much everything, from balls to frying pans. The abundant colourfull toys in the shelves enticed me and I wished to transfer the whole of the store in Ghana. My sister put me back together. We agreed that I should purchase things that would easily fit in my luggage and be apropriate for teaching children aged 2-6. The outcome was: colour pencils, bubbles, pumped up animals, spins, books of stickers, drawing books, puppets, small cars, cards with animals and veggies.

 
After the trial period of three days, I had collected enough information for the school system, the difficulties and the specifities. The time to take action had come. I requested some teaching time from the teacher, who offered it to me eagerly. At first, I selected the puppets, because they had caught the attention of my little students, who asked me persistently what they are and whether they are allowed to play with them. I answered that they actually belong to the teaching material and we would soon all play with them.

The puppets were 5. Three pigs , a wolf and a red riding hood. Two different fairytales could be narrated with their contribution: "the three little pigs" and "the red riding hood". I took a minute to recall the stories properly. I felt more confident about "the three little pigs". So I started from this one. The children were abnormaly quiet. They were all expecting to listen to the new story accompanied with the new clean puppets. In  order to refresh your memory, the story goes as follows: The three little pig brothers had to part with their parental house, because they had grown old. The oldest builds a house of straws in one day, as he was idle. The second born built a house out of wood in a week and joined the first in playing. While the youngest one buckled down and built a strong house of bricks in one month under the teasing and laughter of his older brothers. To cut a long story short, the wolf blows the house of the first pig and burns the wooden house of the second. The two brothers seek shelter in the habitat of the youngest pig, which at the end proved to be the wisest of all , as his stable and firm structure assured their survival from the menace of the wolf.

When I was halfway the story, I felt that my students were not following me. I was describing the residences of straw and wood as insecure and inapropriate and instead of disapproval for the oldest pigs i could only discern confusion in their cute black eyes. And then it dawned on me. The houses of the story might seem much more luxurious and safe than their own. Some houses in the community were even a wonder to stand still and not collapse. Through the trotro window I had seen houses, which were leaning and had no doors or windows. Small ones were shared by big families and the furniture were little and old. My shame was undescriable. I rushed to finish the fairy tale and decided to fathom the reality of the kids standing before me. One thing was for sure: the western stories were incomprehensible and useless. Therefore, my new task was to search for traditional ghanian tales, that would "speak" genuinely to my students.

Read More »

Rolling circle from the classes: On the other side of the door

The working week came to an end, without me realizing that five days had already passed in distant Africa. Friday was the last day of my trial-period at school. I had to make a decision, because on Monday new volunteers would join me at school.  

   
On Fridays, which as the last days of the week have been rendered more relaxing, the students are instructed to wear a sports' school uniform, in white colour with small blue details. In reality very few kids can abide by the instruction. When I spontaneously asked how much a uniform costs, I found out that it equals to less than a coke in a European Country (13 GC= 2,66 euros). My surprised expression made the teacher to explain frankly to me, that if a family has this amount of money will prefer to spend it in a more dire need. For instance, they will buy fish or rice to feed the whole family instead.

The last class before my selection layed on the other side of the thin, wooden, loose door. There, you can find the oldest age group of the school, from five to seven years old. I had a feeling that this class would be the ideal for me, because of the higher maturity of the kids and their more advanced English skills. When it comes to the second guess it was accurate, while the first raises discussion. In this class, as in every other, the fighting was considered an exciting hobby. When the teacher is not present they become noisy and aggressive. When I tried to detach one boy from another, I discovered that they struggled even more furiously than before. After serious thought, I reached a conclusion: they enjoy fighting that much, because there are no toys, colours, clay or even enough space in the school to direct their admirable energy. I had to accomplish, by any means, to keep them busy with practically bare hands.

 
I had also a little new inconvenience to face, that would disturb me for the next two weeks. The day before, on the way back from the mall, while crossing the road, I triped on my shoes and fell solemnly on the cement road. The result was that I torn my favorite thin and airy pants and of course I got two big wounds on both of my knees. Random people on the street noticed my limp and looked at my ugly big wounds. They all said "I'm sorry", as a way to sympathize with me. Right after the incident I visited a pharmacy, which was luckily on my way. The woman treated my wounds by implementing two medicines. The one was the most hated alcohol, while the other was an unknown substance to me. It is called violet, due to its mov colour apparently , and has the ability to harden the blood and create a violet crust. Every time that I made any slight move to walk, the wound opened  unavoidably. I was thinking that it should be impossible to keep the kids in a safe distance from my open wounds.

 
However, when the children neared my injuries the next days, I pointed at my violet knees. Then they opened their eyes widely and said the familiar sympathetic "I'm sorry". Anyone unaware, that was heading with power towards me, was shortly informed by the others and the "I'm sorry" followed. Soon I detected the violet substance in many kids' little injuries. I speculated that it is used so broadly here because an open wound is succeptible to infection by the dust which is covering everything and filling the air.

 
At 12 o' clock, two girls from the class helped the teacher to distribute the food to the rest of the students. The menu included Banku, a traditional ghanian dish which is a mixture of corn dough with cassava, and fish in a red sauce. First of all, everyone  directed with shut eyes a prayer to God for the "Daily Bread". The portions as always had to be carefully and fairly shared in the bowls. But the tin - bowls did not suffice for all of the students. Hence, the two girls were waiting for the people that have been served first to finish their lunch and then they were collecting the empty bowls. The same bowls were used to be filled again and were offered to the remaining kids. Everyone was patiently sitted in the little wooden benches, expecting their turn. In the end, the two girls, me and the teacher have been left. In recognition of the girls' contribution and patience, they received a much bigger portion than their classmates'. Still not bigger than mine. I was offered the lion's share. Although I appreciated the gesture of the teacher, I declined the huge amount of food and only kept some to taste Banku for the first time. During my lunch, the students who had not gone out to play, surrounded me quietly staring at my little Banku and the too-spicy-for-me sauce. I offered the  remaining food to them and they rushed to eat every last bit of it. This became a habbit soon. They knew, that I would not finish my food, and always expected peacefully the last mouthfulls.

I was told that some of the students in the class have no other meal than the school lunch during the whole day. Moreover, a boy was missing from his first row seat for a week. When he came back to school, I asked him why he did not attend school for the past few days. Due to some sickness?" His answer was natural and honest. His mother did not have the money to pay his lunch at school that costs 1,50 Gc which equals to 30 cents of euro.

 
I could not hep but recalling a famous expression in the so called "civilised" Western World, which is used  by parents to persuade their kids to eat all of the food : "The children in Africa are starving and you are defying your precious food". It's been so overused during our childhood that is hardly believed. Many think that it is a trick from the parents. Even those who believe that there might be a grain of trueth in this expression keep their consience clean by this notion: " Even if I don't eat my food there is no realistic way to offer it to the hungry children in Africa".

 
The heartbreaking trueth is that those kids, of whom I have been hearing so often, are real. I have actually met those kids.

Read More »

Rolling circle from the classes- Nursery II

It was a special day for me. I woke up at 5.30 and got ready. I tried to look as unnoticable as I could, which is quiet hard when you think that wherever I go I am the only white person. I passed the interns house gate and roled completely alone to the trotro station! I consulted my notes, drawing the route in my mind.

 
* I am at "New road Madina"... I board on any trotro, whose mate cries either "Cra-Cra-Cra" or "Ci-Ci-Ci"... I should remember to notify the mate that I will get off at "thirty seven" station, because the trotros sometimes change route without warning, in order to evade the traffic... There I will meet the crowded market with the acute smell and the passionate preacher... My trotro will be the one close to that pole and next to the woman's recorded voice about healing herbs... I should notify also the second mate about my destination... This time the name is "Bola Junction" (Bola means Trash in Ga, because in this place used to be a former collective point for trash )... *

 
I followed loyally my precious notes, with one difference: I told each mate about three times where I want to stop and I was also asking other passengers frequently if we are taking the normal route or if we have deviated. At the end I proudly arrived at the school with an arrogant feeling that I could conquer the world. 

 
Next up was the second age group, that of 3-4 years old. The classroom seemed much different from the previous one. Instead of mats on the floor, where the students sleep, play, sit, there were long wooden desks and tiny wooden chairs and benches. The scene was also consisted of an old blackboard, a bigger desk, two plastic chairs, a bin, nails on the wall to hang the bags and the familiar bucket with three or four glasses on it. The wall on the left was a thin wooden door, which divides one big hall in two. It is supposed to open only in special occasions, when  the two classes become one. But over the time the latch has lost its initial power and now it is loose, permitting the door to open with a 4 year-old's push.  

When the little students gathered in the classroom, the teacher, who is one of the founders of the school, started saying the Alphabet slowly and the little students repeated it in one voice. Then, it is numbers' time. The same teaching method is used. The teacher counted and the students repeated. Lastly, the students sing  kids' songs, which have been inspired by wild life. Specifically, one song, which was clearly about a fox, was matched with a lovely dance in a circle.

After all that physical and spiritual effort, the break time came. The girls showed vivid interest on me and formed a circle around the plastic chair where I was sitted. They were all calling me "Brofonyo, Brofonyo" (= white woman), trying to capture my attention. Two girls, that looked like sisters and their hair was skillfuly braided, were pulling my hair in an effort to give me small rasta. Another sweet girl with short boy haircut was climbing on my lap asking me personal questions in very good English. "What is your name?", "Where are your parents?", "Where do you live?", "Where is your baby?". Others were saying the numbers to impress me. My nose ring and my little evil eye chain was often the center of attention. The kids were obsreving and touching those peculiar accessories asking "What is this?" in their delightful Ghanian accent. 

                          

When the break was over, I was asked by the teacher to prepare the homework. The task was to draw little dots on the children's books , that connected together would make numbers. These books were small,  squarre, made of vulnerabe paper in green, pink, blue colour. Their frontpage had various themes. Others were decorated by Dora the little explorer and Mickey Mouse, others by the Ghanian Flag and ghanian football team.To my huge surprise I noticed, that some blue books depicted  Obama! Most of them were torn and some of their pages were missing. They were held together by a plastic rubber, according to the course that they were used for, and stored alltogether under the old wooden teacher's desk, as no shelves were hanging on the walls. I was informed that the decoration had to be simple, because the classrooms were easily accessible by prospective thieves, when the school was closed. 

By the end of the day some kids learnt my name. When they heard someone calling me "Brofonyo" they told him off in Ga and explained with an air of a wise man, that my real name is not "White woman" but Lilly. 

Read More »

Rolling circle from the classes - Nursery I

At the meeting with the headmaster we had agreed that I should first pass from all the classes to decide which one fits me better, as I was the first intern of the season. 

Day number one: I officially started my teaching experience in Accra from the youngest students. They are 2-3 years old and it is even impressive for me that they were able to walk, speak, and go to the toilet, let alone go to school. In the morning either the mothers show up with the babies on their back or older siblings carry them to school. They all have their little bags, with their snacks inside, and wear the dark blue and white uniforms. Blue dress with straps and a striped shirt for girls. Blue trousers and the same striped shirt for boys. As many girls have a short haircut, you can tell their gender by the dress and the earrings. They look so cute in their clothes. Like little gentlemen and ladies. Their young age does not let their appearance look tidy for long though. They soon start to take off their shoes, pouring their juice on the shirt, laying on the floor etc. 

Mothers carrying their children to school

Every class has a Ghanian teacher, which makes things a lot easier for interns that have no previous teaching experience. The lesson starts. The teacher is singing children's songs accompanied with dance figures. The babies are following, glowing with happiness. Some of them are in Ga and others in English, but both are equally incomprehensible for me. The children's language is a combination of baby talk, ga and ghanian broken english. For instanse, they are saying "chicha" all of the time, which is apparently "teacher". They also love to have a short conversation that always goes like that:

Allo! (=Hello)

Allo! (=Hello)

Ow a you? (=How are you?)

I fie, you?  (= I'm fine, you?)

I fie. (I'm fine.)

They even raise their little hands and put them next to their ears to immitate a telephone conversation.

Singing and dancing

One girl comes close to me and makes a small bow putting her hands back. I look at the teacher bewildered. She smiles and tells me that she asks permission to go to the toilet. After a while a boy is making another theatrical move. He is raising his hand close to the mouth. Aha. This time I know he is asking permission to drink water. But where is the water? Then I notice a big bucket with a tap close to the door. It has a lid and four little glasses on it. The kids need help to pour the water in the glass, but then they drink it by themselves. If there is some water left they would not throw it but they would give it to the other thirsty baby quewing behind them.  

 
The lesson goes on with the numbers: zero, one , two, three..

 
The time for the first break has come. So the teacher is helping out the little students to get their snacks. The biscuits are very popular among the snacks, which also included some juice, orange as an underlying pen, crisps and milk in tablets. Some of them go with little toys, which are much appreciated. 

Snack time

When the break is over I decide to show them a little spin wich changes colours (red-blue). But once the teacher is not around the order is instantly lost. They are all trying to get the toy, fighting, crying and shouting. I try to explain that everyone would have a go. Eventually, I manage to keep them a little quiet. Once I spin the toy and red and blue light comes out, they are thrilled, clapping their hands. A boy made an effort and ... success.

Hiding

It is lunch time. The teacher brings a bucket with rice and another pot with red sauce and some fish. I offer to help but she declines, because the food was little and she has to manage the portions. The food is served. A handfull of rice and a tiny piece of fish, with some spicy sauce. The babies, after they washed their hands in a bowl with soap, start eating with their hands. Some endeavours succeed while others fail, resulting in one more stain on their small uniforms.

 
Kids are playing, crying, shouting, laughing, jumping, trying to get my attention in any possible way. But I notice one little quiet boy, who is the only one not wearing a school uniform, but a traditional wear. He seems shy and surprisingly serene. I go close to him but he steps back. I talk to him but he does not respond. He is just going to hide in the privacy of a corner. I guess that he is not very comfortable with English and maybe his family does not have any extra money to buy a uniform. Maybe he is even new at school.

When the lunch is over, it is break time again! In short time, I hear the kids cheering. The dance teacher , another volunteer from the community, appears riding his bicycle and holding a big drum. He is going to teach the older students a traditional dance, that looks like a short drama-play. The boys portray the fishermen, who are fishing in the ocean. The girls are supposed to be their wives, who receive the fish, put it in a bowl  on top of their head and go to sell it in the market. The babies are mesmerised by the beat and the dance and try to join. But the yard is too small to fit all the students. Thus, they have to either stay in the classrooms or at least far from the "dancefloor". They gather close to the windows to hear the music and copy the moves. They all seem to have an inherent talent to dance from age 2.
..Batirdi.... Batirdi..... Batirdi....

Dance lesson

First day at school closes with the best musical feeling. The beat is stuck in my mind: Batirdi.... Batirdi..... Batirdi....

Read More »

The first day of the rest of my life

At the same day, that I arrived in the country which would accomodate me for the next two months, I was going to visit the headmaster to discuss about school and my duties. So I and my Ghanian friends started the long way to La.

    
The public transportation in Accra is mainly by "tro tros". Small vans that fit around 20 passengers (their capacity depends on their different size). The crew is consisted of two persons: the driver and the "mate". The mate is always sitted on a specific place next to the door in order to open the rolling door, collect the money and indicate the route to the prospective passengers. He is practically putting his arm outside of the open window, making a distinctive gesture and announcing the destination in abbreviation. Cra- Cra- Cra, that means Accra, Ci- Ci- Ci, that means Circle. The trotros vary in size, decoration, colour, age, musical preference and religious beliefs.

    
For me to arrive at school would take a small trip everyday. Due to the heavy traffic and the fact that I needed to change two trotros, I would travel for 1,5 to 2 hours to my destination. Same to return. I wasn't discouraged at all, as my 3-4 hour ride through Ghana's Capital would give me the opportunity to peep into the locals' life. I would observe the colourful clothes, the backpacked babies, the bizarre merchandise on top of women's heads.

Woman selling peanuts

So we boarded on a trotro, whose mate's strident voice was shouting Cra- Cra- Cra! Halfway, we got off and walked to the 37 trotro station. From the one trotro to the other, we crossed a small market, where you could find all sorts of products. Stationary, Dettol, buckets, bread, eggs, drinks, bracelets, biscuits, fish, underwear and so on. The smell of the food mixed with that coming from the sewage was a little unpleasant, but it is oddly also one of the things you get used to while in Ghana.    

    
The market was loud and crowded. People were coming from all directions. A strong manly voice sounded magnified by a megaphone. He was talking in a local language, probably Twi. It was hard to grasp whether he was angry or excited and passionate. Must have been passionate, I decided. You could also discern a second voice, agreeing with the first man in an ecstasy. I soon realized that he was talking about God. Our trotro was parked a little further from the two men and the megaphone. While the ecstatic men's voices were fading out a woman's voice filled the atmosphere. The voice was recorded this time, also in a local language. After carefull hearing I was convinced that this woman was advertising herbs that will enhance your immune system against malaria. My conclusion was based on the two english words she kept repeating "Immune System" and "Malaria".

37 Trotro station

The second ride lasted about 45 minutes. Now you could view much more green and big villas with a security booth. Then again the trotro turned and as if being in the knight Bus ( ref. to Harry Potter), the luxurious residences vanished. We had reached the community where the school was located. The houses around were made by shoddy, cheap materials, the streets were muddy, eneven and full of rocks. Kids were running around barefoot and half naked. The trotro stopped minutes away from school. We had to cross another house's yard to finally arrive at the school's small playground. The borders of the school and houses were indistinct. It was impossible to tell where the school territory started and the house privacy ended. The building is comprised by three classrooms on the right and one classroom on the left. Inbetween there is a house. There is also a bathroom, a kitchen and a small courtyard. The swings are destroyed and rusty. But that doesn't stop the kids from having fun in their invaluable playground.

The path to the school, LA

It was closing time for school and only a dozen of students were waiting for their parents, wearing their cute blue uniforms and their small bags. I was informed that when it is raining most of the parents do not send their children to the school. I speculated that the parents find it difficult to approach the school after heavy rain, as little mighty rivers are formed around it, having a moat effect. Another reason should be that the roof has small holes, permitting the rain to come in, and of course the absence of shed. The toilet is independently situated away from the classes and the kids, who do not possess umbrella, become "ducks" from the rain (= Greek expression that means soaking wet), when nature calls them.

Heavy rain

Muddy paths around the school

The schoolyard taken from the class

For all the above, that day there were only the 1/30 of the total students in the yard. When I was noticed, in a split of a second, I was surrounded by beautiful children, around 3-4 years old shouting "brofonyo, brofonyo, brofonyo" (= white woman in Ga, their local language). They were all trying to hug me and touch me. I asked their names. I could only remember the name of the girl that first ran towards me and managed the most privileged place. It was Jessica. her hair was like many small antennae pointing to the sky. I was clearly moved, but i tried not to shed any tears. At that crucial time I made a promise to myself; i will not be swallowed by sympathy, frustration or sorrow. I was there to help, appreciate, live. We all deserve respect and pitty does not go along with it.Thus, no tears for Lilly!

My first warm hug

Even my Ghanian friends were surprised by the children's reaction. Frankly speaking the main reason of their enthousiasm was the fact that I was an "obruni", a "brofonyo". Nothing else is so special about me to magnetize kids that way. When I was released from my adorable new students, we decided to have a stroll in the community. We must have walked at least three times from the same paths, but I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Unfeasible to orientate. There were no streets proper for cars. The ground houses had small yards and there were sparsely some shops.We also passed by a shut down internet cafe.

Local shop at the area of the school

One of my friend's house was located right opposite the headmaster's house. We were invited in while waiting for the appointment. His mother greeted us heartily. She looked as a strong woman that is indulging the fact that has born and brought up useful kids for the society. That was the trueth! Despite difficulties, her children had gone to college and were well qualified. We went in my friend's room, without the shoes, and were offered a Malt. It is a strong flavoured non alcoholic brewed from barley, hops, and water.

   
The appointment with the headmaster took place an hour after the planed time. But it was in my Africa resolutions not to care about delays. In his porch a baby was staring at me with eyes wide open. His mom called me "Obruni, obruni" and encouraged me in broken english to come closer, because the baby liked me. So I did. The baby was still looking at me when the headmaster invited us in a room. We took off our shoes and were offered cold sachets of water. The headmaster is a truely kind man who is struggling to offer education to the kids of the less privileged households. He also underlined how important the contribution of the interns is, for they bring new ideas from their homecountries. He also mentioned a new initiative about the construction of a new safe building that will accomodate the primary school ( i will devote a whole article about it). Leaving his house I felt confident and happy that there was freedom of expressing new ideas and productive citicism.

My undersized new friend

Overflown by enthousiasm, that helped me to not collapse by 8 o clock, I made it back home. The living room was congested by boys who were watching feverously a world cup match. Many names were mentioned again, only to forget them next minute. Suddenly, I remembered that, I hadn't eaten anything all day. I needed to be fed. One of my courteous friends showed me the way to thrylic "Mama Lit", that was the main food supplier for the whole house. It is a small kiosk with ready made food. There is a fair variety of boiled eggs, fried chicken and fish, fried rice, noodles, jollof rice, rice balls, fried plantae, salad. Personally, i did not feel ready enough to taste the spicy ghanian cuisine, so I selcted safely fried chicken with rice. The rice was that much that made it difficult for the box to close. The price was 5 Ghanian Cedi (=1,02 euros).
    
My first day came to an end, with my eyelids closing heavy by exhaustion. Countless thoughts and pictures were parading in my mind. Am I going to be a good teacher? Will the kids like me? Am I going to find my way around in Accra? Is it all too much to handle? Thoughts shimmered and finally vanished. Finally i was in the arms of Morpheus. Tomorrow, would be a brand new day in Africa!

  

Read More »