Alice, a Beacon of Hope

"Knowledge is power". I read the painted words as we drove past a local library. So true, I thought to myself. In my lifetime, I've heard many phrases and quotes about obtaining knowledge,  going to school, being successful and working hard - until your good is better and your better is best!  But what happens once you earn your B.S., M.D., Ph.D., M.P.H., B.A., and all the other letters in the alphabet? One could say, "well, get a job, duh", another could say, "make money", and I say "give back - share your knowledge - enlighten someone else to enlighten the community, the country, the world. 

Alice understood this concept. She stood shyly beside her mother, explaining a very important part of the Yelwoko Women's Development Center: a girl's school, where they learn how to sew, to make jewelry, to make dresses, cloth, handbags, and many other accessories. The one teacher - in charge of about 20 girls - stood proudly beside her students' work. The table stood illuminated with bright cloths, dresses, handbags and jewelry. One could tell that they had worked hard on their items. Who knew when the next time would come for them to sell their items to us, to members of Episcopal Relief & Development, to supporters, to Americans. Her face brightened with every purchase we made as she happily said, thank you so much. 

Years earlier, Alice received her education from a university in Ghana. Her studies included a fashion designer program along with business and entrepreneurship. Alice had come back to her community to teach what she had learned: how to run a business, to make a living, and provide for your family and community. She understood the importance of the transferra
l of knowledge. Aside from the skill of making one's goods, Alice also teaches the girls basic writing skills to write their customer's name and order, and also basic math skills to count money. 

In turn, Alice hopes for her students to manage their own shops in their communities and to also teach other girls what they have learned. Through Alice, one can definitely see a community that has formed a care for one another. It's not always about you...

Written on July 24, 2013

Intrusive vs. Included

Intrusive versus included, us versus them, white versus black...a constant tension in being accepted or rejected. 

While visiting the families in the Binaba community, I often wondered if we were being intrusive. 

As a child, I often remembered what happened in our household before we had visitors. First, they called. They told us who would be coming and when. As soon as my mother hung up the phone, that started the countdown for cleaning and beautifying the home along with getting food for the house. "Alright", my mother said as she looked in the pantry to survey the cleaning supplies, "I'll start downstairs." "Y'all", she said looking at my sisters and I as we sat in the family room watching tv, "should start on those rooms." Rooms? Check. Bathrooms? Check. Kitchen? Of course, check. Floors vacuumed? Check. Kitchen floor mopped? Check. Food in the fridge? Check. 

Okay *exhale* now we are ready for company. There was a process to this, people. So, when we entered their homes, I wondered how they felt. 10 privilege Americans coming into their homes, walking pass the baby ducks that came and went, pass the pigs that lay on their bellies outside, pass the chickens that clucked through the door and out, and pass the nuts from the tree that lined the walkway. 

We entered the roofless, doorless home with amazement in our eyes...greatly urging us to pull out our cameras and take pictures...inconspicuously looking for the first person to pull out their camera - because that would make it "okay" for the rest to follow. We stood in the center of the home, looking as the walls, about shoulder height, stood around us and as the sun shined on us. To the right, a kitchen. Bowls and pots sat on the ground, waiting for use. In front of us and to the left were two rooms. If one were to enter, one would have to duck down into the cubby-like space. The room was just about the size of a walk in closet. Clothes hung from a clothing line. Pots, pans and dishes laid stacked on a table, while a space surrounded by a mosquito net represented one's place  for sleeping. 

Through Collins, her translator, Avuubono told us how helpful the mosquito nets had been. She explained how before her family of 8 had the 3 mosquito nets, they contracted malaria about every two weeks, but now, they rarely get it. Avuubono posed as we took pictures of her and her mosquito net. I could not quite tell how Avuubono felt about the picture taking and possible "intrusion" in her home. I looked at her family's faces and expressions as they watched us take pictures, watched us ask her questions that were translated by Collins, and watched as she humbly answered them in her native tongue. I understand the importance of Episcopal Relief and Development and its partnership with ADDRO, and how helpful the organizations had been to families like theirs, by providing resources such as mosquito nets; however, at that moment, I could not help but wonder if they felt obligated to participate and violated, for in a sense, being put on display. What were they feeling?!

Once again, I felt in violation - in violation of privacy... of space and sensitivity to one's feelings. She and her family smiled and waved as we left - taking our time to step in the right places; but I still wondered how they felt, for us coming into their homes as if we are on a tour in a museum. 

I apologize Avuubono. Our amazement, fascination, and interest overcame us. Generally speaking... or rather writing, this is a great group of people who care about all people and the work of the episcopal church. It's just that at times, our American perspective overcomes us. 

 Written on July 23, 2013
Photo Credits: Karimah Shabazz

The Light Pole

*sigh* "How many pages of reading do I have to read tonight? 115 pages. How many did I read so far? Oh, none?"  *sigh* "Looks like a long night at the library." I drive to the campus center in search of late night study snacks. I proceed to Down the Road Cafe (DTR). I get my coffee, my water and snacks to keep me up. I chat with some of my DTR friends, classmates and other friends who I see strolling around the campus center. I leave the campus center to get into Honda Babi. I leave the Campus Center to drive to the library, which by the way, is like a 5-7 minute walk from the campus center. But why walk when you have a car, right? I enter the library and get on the elevator to arrive at the fourth floor. I like the fourth floor because it has a small space where few people go to study. It is sometimes referred to as the chamber of secrets (so shhh, don't tell anybody). I find a desk that isn't being used and put my books on the table to start work. I am in a comfortable, air conditioned/heated space...

In Binaba, Ghana, a student leaves home at night, in hopes of getting some work done. The student is in route to the study space with books and paper in tow. It may be a 5 minute walk or 20 minute walk, but the student has to get there, because the student has to finish their work. Finally...the student arrives. 

Located outside, the student finds a spot on the bench. Three benches, along with a space left for entering and exiting form a square around a light pole.

The light pole provides the only light for the studying student. It stands about 20-30 feet high. While enduring the outside weather and swatting away flies and mosquitos and listening to the rhythm of the night air and tune of the night chirpers, the student opens their book to begin studying... 

Written on July 23, 2013

God is Everywhere

"God, thank you for traveling mercies", this prayer I often heard my mother say before she pulled out of our garage in Atlanta, Georgia. Getting into my aunt's car, after closing the gate that leads to her and my grandmother's house in Queens, New York, I close the door and put on my seatbelt to hear the same prayer, "Lord thank you for traveling mercies, amen", under my aunt's breath.

While in college, in Red Hook, New York, I unlock my car, 'Honda Babi', get inside, lock the doors, and put on my seatbelt. I start the engine, and before putting the car in drive whispers, "Thank you Lord for traveling mercies."

While boarding the plane, I look at my boarding pass. 'To Accra, Ghana', it reads. I smile inside, "Am I really going to Ghana?!". I look for my seat number on the ticket as I proceed to walk down the aisles of the plane. After finding my seat, I put my carry on bag in the overhead and fasten my seatbelt. After everyone boards, the luggage is put on the plane, and everything is in place, I whisper silently to myself while looking out of the window, "Thank you Lord for traveling mercies. Thank you that I will land safely in Ghana. Thank you for guiding the pilot's hands and being his eyes while in the air. Thank you."

God is everywhere. Since being a Christian, this is something that I've known. However, I was able to experience this and come to a complete understanding of it while in Ghana. We prayed together, at times in English and in other times not - praying to one God - the same God. As Bishop Jacob Ayeebo prayed in his native tongue, I thought to myself, "Oh, God I forgot that you're multi-lingual". I couldn't understand Bishop Ayeebo, but I knew that He could. God traveled with me, He said that He would never leave me nor forsake me...He's known for keeping His promises.

While on the trip, when things seemed like they would go wrong, I prayed, "Thank you Lord for your grace and for favor." I know what to do when things go wrong. Don't worry, don't complain or murmur, and don't speak negativity, but pray. Pray for wisdom, pray for guidance, and thank God for it all. Thank God for it already being done. God deserves all of the glory, because He's the reason for it all. Each day, I believe that He is leading me and guiding me in His perfect will. Thank Lord, Amen.

Written on July 24, 2013

Photo Credit: heartofthematteronline.com

Caught in the Middle

Being caught in the middle reminds me of this Chips Ahoy cookie commercial I used to watch as a child. It would go like this, "squeezed in the middle, smack dab in the middle, squeezed in the middle" and continue on like that. The thing about being caught in the middle is being fixed in one position while only moving with the outside forces.

In a sense, the outside forces determine your direction, your movement, and most importantly, your perspective.

Here, I'm caught in the middle of being both Black and American. For most of my life, my world was shaped and viewed through my blackness. Interestingly, I didn't realize this until I attended a predominantly white college. My blackness was never felt so strongly. I realized for the first time that my race actually mattered to some people and shaped how our social interactions would play out. I mean yeah, I've been followed around stores by employees - especially in beauty supply stores; and I've been treated unkind by workers in malls and people in passing, but had never experienced this feeling. I experienced a sense of alterity...feeling like an outsider. 

As a child, I've often heard the phrase, "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me", well ladies and gentlemen, that's a lie. Words hurt. Words stick with you. There are adults who are still struggling with words/lies they've been told as children and young adults. Words leave imprints in your memory...okay, I have finished my digression for now. 

In Ghana, for the first time I am experiencing two identities. In America, I don't often experience my American identity because my blackness overshadows it. For the first time, I truly feel like an American.  I wonder what it feels like, looks like, and means to be an American in America! That may have went over your head, but you may get it one day...

Written on July 24, 2013

Privilege Revealed

In America, I often hear the terms "the privileged" and "the oppressed" - especially since I engage in many readings, videos and classes that talk about social justice and the like. I often fall in the latter group when thinking of my own identities, such as gender, class, and race. There cannot be a privileged group without an oppressed group - that's history.

Coming to Ghana has shaped my perspective in a sense. For the first time, I am witnessing a privilege that I never realized I had - my privilege as an American. As an American, I enjoy the privilege of running/safe water, a flushing toilet, phenomenal infrastructure in my home, on the road, in office buildings, schools and libraries. Most revealing, I enjoy the privilege of being from a nation that holds hegemonic power in the world...a place that ranks its way of life as the epitome of society. I have privilege.

I think one of the most important parts of privilege is recognizing it. Afterwards, understanding it and figuring out a way/action plan to avoid it oppressing others. I am very happy that I studied the courses that I did before coming here - especially my sociology and africana studies courses. It shaped me to become more socially and culturally aware of myself and others around me. Being culturally sensitive to the way of life of many Ghanians, kept me from completely submitting to an ethnocentric perspective and lowering their way of life to my own. An American can easily come here or a place like it and show pity...show pity for the people who live here and their way of life. However, there has been more of an understanding within my own thinking. An understanding that the way of life that I am used to and that most Americans are used to is not the only way to live, and we are not somehow superior and everyone else inferior due to this unique way of life.

For many Americans, we get caught up in measuring someone's happiness based on the material things they possess and on their economic capital; however, bringing this frame of mind to Ghana can quickly lead to ethnocentrism. I could give a definition of happiness, but instead will tell you what I saw. Of course everyone is not always happy...but there is something else that comes into place: gratefulness, thanksgiving. As I rode on the bus, I saw people: people who smiled, people who laughed, people who did not smile, children who played, children who argued, families and friends who sat together and talked; I saw businesswomen and businessmen, I saw schoolchildren, I saw people. I didn't see a people to be pitied, but a community...I saw a community.

Written on July 24, 2013

The Guilt Within the Film

Riding on the bus, as I look out of the window, I quickly take out my digital camera.

"I have to capture this moment", I think to myself.

Turning the camera on, zooming in and aiming at the target, click.

I look at the image on the camera, yes! Perfect.

I can't wait to show my family and friends back home who await these images.

I then look at the image outside of the window.

It is more than an image, it is a person.

They are people.

I continue my journey to capture everything I see.

My supporters back home gave me one main duty and that is to "take many pictures" and I must fulfill this duty!

Ah ha! A lightbulb moment.

As the bus is moving, record the activities that happen outside of the window!

Yes! Perfect. That way, I will not miss a moment!

With joy in my heart from this new found idea, I quickly take out my camera, pressing the record button and pointing my camera outside of the window. I look at my camera's screen as it captures all of the movements of the busy people at work, play, and school. As the bus rounds a corner, my camera catches a group of people who are sitting down. As my camera makes direct contact with the peoples' eyes, I take my eyes off of the camera's screen and into the peoples' eyes. With disbelief written on their faces, I read a girl's lips as she says the word, "camera". As she says it again, she looks toward the moving bus as the others follow her gaze. They all look at me as the bus continues on its way with me continuing to film. I feel almost frozen in time.

After realizing what happened, I pressed the stop button and turned off my camera. That was enough filming for now. I felt as though I had violated them, violated their right as humans to privacy and their right to say no to being filmed or photographed.

Had my desire to "capture it all", duty to "take many pictures", and inclination to capture "everyday people doing everyday activities" overcome my own knowledge of respect for other people? As I sat on the bus, saddened by what I had done, I thought about my own people's past - about my ancestor's history. How African women, like Saartjie Baartman - who they named Hottentot Venus - were put on display for Europeans...treated like animals at a zoo...put on a platform for white Europeans to be amazed and to see the "freak show"...the abnormality of the African woman...for them to look and record what they had seen. They were amazed, "Wow, look at this creature..."

I felt as though I had exploited them...

Written on July 22, 2013