Something I've always loved about the three places in West Africa I've spent the most time--Ghana, Togo, and Benin--is the way the animals just roam around at will. I get great amusement out of the chickens who run in and out of restaurants and the small pygmy goats who wander across the road--sometimes even looking both ways and baying to their kids, "DON'T DO IT! OBRONI (universal word throughout most of Ghana for WHITE PERSON) BUS COMING!" The clusters of sheep and cows who all look hot and miserable. The small, sickly looking cats who seem to linger a bit too long at your feet while you eat. And at times, even a monkey or two ballsey enough to sneak a bite of whatever you're eating. And there is a casual nonchalance about it among the locals to the mere chaos these animals bring to the atmosphere. The layer of absurdity that three baying baby goats can add to a scene. Or a chicken who can't contain her squawks.
And I'm assuming that this statement could be interpreted as shallow or insensitive to the plight of the third world. Didn't you know? Only developed countries are allowed to use fences. And pastures. And cages. How could I have been so ignorant!? And of course I know these animals are here because they serve a purpose--something Africa seems to have gotten right (as most things here appear to serve a practical purpose rather than a frivolous, superficial one). These animals provide food and nourishment, fibers for clothing, and a rudimentary system of currency (I'll trade you three goats and a chicken for a cow). But I can't help but giggle when I see goats climbing to the top of a building or when chickens interrupt my dinner. Particularly when my dinner IS chicken.
The title I've given this post even has me giggling. Having now made this journey many times, I'm become just a tad sensitive to the topic of "fill in the blank here in Africa", like "mission in Africa" or "study abroad in Africa", which are phrases many people use and almost everyone interprets differently. (Newsflash: Africa is a massive continent with many, many countries. All different and unique). And I'm certainly not suggesting that I've become an expert, or that I travel "the right way", but I can't help but cringe when I overhear comments in the international concourse en route to somewhere on the continent or even sometimes in my own workplace about "fill in the blank here in Africa". Where are you going? What are you doing? Let's be specific here, folks.
There are three huge mistakes people make about traveling to Africa. And let me be clear, I'm guilty of all three on some level and have only learned from my own privileged, American stupidity. First, the largest carry-on item we Americans bring with us on these trips is pity. A massive bag full of pity that we've packed specifically with the intention of leaving it behind before we re-board for our flight home. That we'll share with all the locals who don't have McDonald's and TiVo. The clothing we'll leave behind that we bought on triple discount from the store that keeps the developing world busy with orders for more cheap clothing for people who don't want to spend what thread is really worth.
The second mistake comes in the form of assumption; in assuming that everyone we encounter in Africa is hungry or desperate. That the kid on CNN with the flies in his eyes (who does exist, somewhere, I'm sure) is EVERY child on the continent. And that all these kids want is to have YOUR life. And YOUR iPod. Well, okay. They probably do want your iPod. I want your iPod, too.
The third is embedded in the second mistake, and requires that you assume that the people you encounter are also less intelligent than you. That you've bought in to the message that because our education system has better infrastructure, that we're smarter. That because we practically have the internet streaming through our eyeballs, that we have more information. That we've somehow figured it all out. And the reasons theses places can't make progress is because they haven't "figured it all out". Which is crap.
I secretly think dogs smile in Africa because they've actually figured it all out. They know all the secrets. And they're fully aware of what idiots the rest of us truly are.
Over the last few days, I've watched my students stumble into the realities that exist here. Hunger has a horrifying face. Third-world poverty translates to sights and smells you've probably never encountered unless you've been here; a mixture of rotting fish, human feces, hot urine, and the unidentified smells of burning trash. Watching children urinate in the street, not because they want to but because they have to can be a thirty-second life changer. All of this probably sounds really horrible, and unfortunately it truly is until you know this place. Stepping over piles of trash because no real waste management infrastructure exists. Crossing streets jam-packed with cars and motorbikes, fumes and smoke clouding the air, because this is what rush hour in the developing world looks like. No amount of romanticizing what this experience is about can negate these facts.
But then there is the contrast. This delicious contrast that can leave you feeling shaken and confused. There is something alive in the air here. These are communities who are inclusive to each other and who function collectively, raising each other's children and supporting each other emotionally, physically, and financially. People seem to be more passionate and joyful. And then there is the music and the dance. Intricately beautiful dances that are truly so embedded in life that barely-walking toddlers are better than I am at the fluid, organic movement. And a constant, chaotic throbbing of music in the background. An endless pulsing of drums, bells, horns, hip-hop, synthesized noise, and reggae.
And I've watched them battle the pity in their suitcases. Trying to intellectualize their choices and emotions. Trying to make sense of what feels like a bleeding heart or an infected cut somewhere that they can't reach. Also trying to understand what feels so perfect about this place. And what seems to work, in the middle of so many thing failing. Trying to understand the difference between helping or learning, saving or teaching, fixing or listening. Trying to understand where they fit: Am I here to DO something or am I here to LEARN something? And is there really a difference?
When I was little, I watched the movie Sabrina over and over again. I dreamed of being like Sabrina and going to Paris and finding myself the way she did. And when I traveled to Europe for the first time, I tried to figure out how I was going to have that experience. And when it didn't happen, I just assumed it would happen later. In Paris. I never realized that my "Sabrina" moment would happen right here in Ghana, in a developing country, with no small cafes or endless cappuccinos or Harrison Fords. But that's the thing about life. It just happens.
I completely found myself on this continent. And in this country. I've learned, and continue to learn, so much about what it means to be a human from the people I've met here. To be a woman. To be alive. When I'm in Ghana, I find myself smiling more for many of these reasons. Make no mistake about it. These trips are exhausting. I sometimes crash into my bed at 9 or 10 o'clock at night so exhausted with what I've seen that day and so overwhelmed with what my brain is processing that I have no other choice but to sleep, if I can. If the images of something I've encountered in my day don't keep me awake. But there is a freedom that I feel here that I rarely feel at home. It's an escape (an escape that I fully acknowledge as a condition of my own privilege). For many, this place is far from an escape. But perhaps far too few locals can see the forest for the trees; far too few know what blessings exist here and how rich this society really is.
And as I've led this group of undergraduates all over Ghana for the last two weeks, I've learned just as much as they have. I've been tested everyday by the questions I'm asked and the experiences I'm having. I continue to stumble into things I don't understand, languages I don't know, and situations that have no words. And I'll be honest, I'm almost ready to go home. To fully re-charge. To return to the things and people and spaces that I love and that bring me comfort.
I'm astounded by how much I learn each and every time I come here. By how much I grow. By the things that become crystal clear with distance, like love and what's really important.
And experience has taught me that many of these lessons can't possibly begin to make sense if you're too busy thinking about how broken everything is first. If you can't see that there is a richness to what lacks. A beauty to what seems ugly and unwanted. A light in a person's eyes that I hardly ever see at home, a warm hum that fills the grey, over-stimulated void of not playing enough. Not laughing enough. Not dancing enough. For packing your suitcase with pity instead of walking shoes. With assumptions instead of sunscreen.
For seeing the dog with the shit-eating grin and not winking and saying, "I know, buddy. I've figured it out, too."
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| Lucky, by Fiona |
