http://ilga.org/ilga/en/countries/GHANA/Law

http://ilga.org/ilga/en/countries/GHANA/Law

We're About 2km Past Where Jesus Lost His Sandals

I spent the last week at my NGO participating in a four day long conference on gender based violence. It was, for the most part, information that I had already acquired from University however it told me so much about what the true barriers are behind achieving gender equality in Ghana. It also gave me so much hope to see women and men that spend all of their time and energy advocating for a balance between the religion, tradition, and culture that make up the main frame of the country, and the struggle to dismantle the extremely pervasive patriarchy embedded within those systems. In addition there was an overwhelming amount of delicious food provided for us, and my colleague Anita and I got to lodge in the beautiful hotel where the conference was being held. The hotel room was glorious and sweet, and quite surreal with all it's luxuries. I had the first hot shower since I went to Portugal and our room was air conditioned. Even though it was a nice break I was glad to come back home, I felt like an impostor trying to live such a posh life after months of latrines and eating with my hands.

I'm nervous about coming home. I think I'm scared of facing the reality that eventually I will forget how good I have it in Canada. Privileges become so clear when they are taken away, but it's hard to appreciate tap water when it's flowed continually your whole life. I know at first I'll be shocked and overwhelmed but of course, over time, it will dull and I will easily slip back into the habit of taking things for granted.

This is one of my favourite quotes from Salman Rushdie, which accurately sums up why I try to diligently log and analyze my experiences and feelings:

"I ask you only to accept (as I have accepted) that I shall eventually crumble into (approximately) six hundred and thirty million particles of anonymous, and necessarily oblivious dust. This is why I have resolved to confide in paper, before I forget. (We are a nation of forgetters.) " - Salman Rushdie.

The Last Four Weeks

This week: wrap up my NGO, attend going away party for yours truly.

Next week: write report and prepare final presentation

Week after that: travel west to lay on beaches and read lots of novels

Final week: present my final report, listen to other people's presentations, pack, try to wrap my head around the fact that I am actually leaving this country and going to the homeland.

Let's Wrap This Up

With one month left to go of my placement with CEPEHRG, and mid-terms now behind me, the finality of this last month and a half are starting to dawn on me. Over the past week all of the students in the TIG group came to Accra and met up at the IAS (our headquarters) and collaborated on presentations that helped us all to understand where everyone was at with their placements. It was really interesting to hear how everyone else was doing, and telling to witness how many similarities everyone can find with each other’s NGOs. The weather is hotter than ever before; it’s borderline indescribable, but I’ll try and deliver some examples. When I cry whilst talking on the phone, my whole body is so wet from sweat I can’t tell if my face is wet from sweat or tears. I have found parts of my body that sweat that I never before knew could (i.e. my forearms, my calves, behind my ears). Every time I bend my elbow sweat pores from the crevice down my arms. If I kneel on the floor I slide around because my knees are so sweaty. I can see the reversed imprint of my face on my pillowcase when I sit up from a sweaty nap. I don’t know how many times I have fallen as sleep on my concrete floor, or the floor of a friend, too hot to do anything but sleep through the wilted afternoons.

My Ghanaian friends don’t seem to mind all that much, although they sweat as much as I do and mention that the heat is “too much” frequently. They continue to wear dark, baggy jeans and long-sleeved shirts no matter how much I scrutinize them with disbelief for it. Now that the Ghanaian people in my life far outnumber those who are not, I have noticed myself slipping into their slang and speech habits. I use the response “Yooooo” a lot, whereas before I would have never been inclined to do so.

My organization is very busy and I’m doing my best to figure out all the comings and goings of the office. I’m nervous about writing my end of year report because it’s such a daunting task at first glance. I was reading over some papers from years past, and they are all about 30 pages with indexes, footnotes, pages of acronyms, and copies of the Ghanaian constitution. Not only do I have to delve into my personal experiences and the experiences of my organization in the broader sense of development, I also need to research and analyze human rights at the local, national, and international level as it pertains to the country and to West Africa. Obviously I will have to start watching less Sex in the City and spend more of my time poring over the constitution.

It was really nurturing to spend the last few days with friends I haven’t seen since the Christmas break, and entertaining to hear everyone’s individual stories about their trials and the general hilarity and confusion that tend to follow us in our lives here. We remark often when someone uses a sentence we would never, ever thought we’d use 6 months ago. For example a phone conversation I had yesterday morning, 0:800.

Kiri: Hello?
Claire: Hey, how are you?
Kiri: I’m good, how are you?
Claire: Pretty good, what are you up to?
Kiri: Oh just rubbing anti-fungal cream all over my body.
Claire: Heyyy, me too!

It seems like everyone is getting some sort of equator-related infection due to the heat and humidity, and there’s a certain amount of comfort in that solidarity.

There’s one thing I can say about this trip that I’m sure of, and that’s the unbreakable substance my backbone has turned into. I’m assertive in ways I never thought I could be, and these past months have taught me how to stand up for myself in every situation. Obviously I am still frustrated with that lack of respect I often receive as a girl here, but not an insulting person gets away without me chewing them out, believe you me. I know I’ll never lose that skill and it is certainly a priceless one to have obtained.

One last thing before I sign off: the Vagina Monologues. The day came that I thought I’d never see, with four Ghanaian women performing heartbreaking, hilarious, and controversial monologues about vaginas, relationships, orgasms, and queer love. It was incredible and surprisingly well attended with both foreigners and Ghanaians a like. Even though I had already read the book I split a gut the whole time because they did such an amazing performance. I saved my ticket stub and will forever remember it as an evening of hope and anticipation for the future of Ghana.