Hi All:
Ghana is a developing country. This is of course nothing new. There are many of these (including my home land). Developing also implies a level of poverty unseen in the U.S. This is again old news. Poverty is nothing new. The concept of the poor and the heroic tale of their struggle is something we often read about. Some may even say that we are aware of poverty. But I'm inclined to say otherwise. Regardless of how many times one greets a group of children while they scream out boro, or how many taxis one charters so that we may arrive in time and in fashion to places, or how much food one buys, the overall picture is the same. Ghana is poor. Very poor. All of Africa is. One would be a fool to miss it, like walking in NYC and failing to see the sky scrappers. To study poverty from our campus or to write about it, as honorable and justified as it is, is not exactly like sitting in the middle of it. Kumasi is a city, but when compared to what we are used to, it is like a small village spread over too much land. I am lucky enough to be living with a Ghanaian family. That also means that I have minute access to that intimacy which is peculiar of families worldwide. Recently, Mr. Tim and I went shopping. We brought home about 500,000 cedis worth of food ($50 roughly). I failed to notice this the first time, but everyone at home was quite excited. Excited not for seeing me, for they saw enough of me throughout the week, but rather for the food. The amount of food that we brought was a rare luxury. We brought sausages and some orange juice prettily packaged in small palm sized baggies neatly labeled Tampico (good stuff), amongst other things. I was also overjoyed, for I have a hefty appetite, but my levity of manner quickly turned to sad contemplation when one of the children boldly and innocently stated, "Why is all the food always for the Whiteman?" The truth is that the Anebakem family, although they are slightly better off than other African families, never buy that much food at one time (it really was not that much, to be honest), and probably never have. This is rare luxury for them, only when Dr. Dingman, and now I, visit is that much food seen at one time, and even then the food is not bought with their own money. The thoughts that stung me worst were not those of the present, but thoughts of the future. What would happen when I left? Doubtless, the family would eat, since native African food is not particularly expensive (except for Fufu, which is a little expensive, but Fufu is good). This also seems to explain the fact why Mr. Tim and Ma Rose rarely eat. Trying to evaluate how often Mr. Tim and Ma Rose eat is like a game of hide and seek. I rarely see them eating and only then at dinner time. Their habits of eating are as usual as it is to walk, and seemingly not important, but they are extremely helpful in seeing the bigger picture. The life of families and individuals in Kumasi is quite difficult. Although there is enough money to eat daily, there is barely enough money to think ahead to tomorrow. The issue is the same everywhere, or so Mr. Tim tells me. The situation is such that children, of all ages, maybe except toddlers, are involved in the money making process. To explain this I must explain the notion of a trotro. Trotro's are larger than normal vans; more often than not they have signs of having had several mechanical work-overs (like a skin graft, except metallic). Eleven to twelve people are easily crowded into one of these metal boxes as they carelessly zoom on the road. Aside from the driver, there is always one individual collecting money and hollering the destination points in a dry raspy voice. This work is not easy, it is fast paced and often dangerous (if you took one trip, you would surely understand). Most of the people who do this are very young. Most are teens, but you often see children no older than 10 years of age doing the job. You often see children standing in the sidewalks with baskets full of goodies to sell, from water to toys. Whenever I buy coconuts to drink, they always come from the same 11 year old. I often give him some extra money for the purchase, falsely and wishfully thinking that those extra 5,000 cedis will end his need to wander all day looking for customers. But how often do we take into consideration the actions of these people? What they must do to stay alive. Statistics can tell us a lot, and they do. In the case of Africa, the statistical evidence is overwhelming. Yet, numbers sometimes diminish the phenomenal effort that individuals put forward everyday to hold on to a level of comfort much less than ours. To support this, I would here explain Mr. Tim's life story followed by Ma Rose's, but that would be needless and a bore. I must admit that I have developed great respect for the efforts of many Ghanaians, and those who are enveloped by poverty and all its affiliates. I have never really realized, but poverty is a way of life. It is as much as culture as it is its vane. Although I would love to give some insightful solution, but I really can not.
Best wishes to all,
Johann