Sleepless in Saboba

Rickety wooden bench. Back against the cement-and-mud surface outside of my hut. Light breeze. Smell of firewood that reminds me of camping in Toffino years ago. Expanse of stars and a full moon above me. Kids around me, enjoying the Nigerian music coming from my laptop. Dana and Hanna sifting maize on the floor in front of me. Elijah prepares tea for Dana, him, and I, since the night is “cool.” Ah, the contentedness. Life is beautiful.

As I sit here, happily exhausted from 16 days working without a break, I contemplate the writer’s block that has plagued my blog-writing in the recent weeks. There is no shortage of things to talk about… but for some reason I don’t feel motivated to write about Saboba’s water system, or the amazing meeting I had with World Vision’s manager, or the hyper-roll that work is on now. Why? I think it’s because what I want to communicate is deeper than that. There are things I just can’t put into words. The messiness and gray areas. But I think you all, as my readers, have earned a lot of respect in my mind.

So I’m not going to try to put into words what I can’t. Instead I’ll give you honest food-for-thought and put the onus on you to be critical and understanding. And to not judge me too harshly.

—

Engineers Without Borders, as an organization, has a brand. Over the past few years, this brand has grown stronger and more powerful. It depicts it’s members as critically thinking problem solvers. True. It depicts an Africa where there is opportunity and happiness. True. It empowers an individual’s capacity to create change. Also true. It shows that African farmers and families aren’t looking for handouts, and can manage their own lives. True. It’s all true. Among many things, EWB promotes strong values and ethics, respect for cultural differences, humility, and courage in the face of ambiguity. These are things I respect most about this organization, and values that align strongly with my own.

But like every brand, we veer dangerously close to misrepresentation. I’m not talking about misrepresentation in terms of saying things that are false. The danger is in what is not said. Not all of EWB’s members are “critically thinking problem solvers.” Africa has opportunity, but not everyone has access to that. Not everyone is happy. One person can change things, in a big way; but one person is never enough. African farmers are not all innovative. And sometimes… values have to be compromised. I can say, with shame and confidence, that in the past two months I’ve played the race card, the religion card, the information-concealing card, the ulterior motive card, and many others that directly go against some of my core values. I’ve remained conscious of it, I’ve reflected on it, and I’ve done it anyway because I believed in the end goal.

Having been working with EWB for 2 years, my first few weeks in Ghana subjected me to SHOCK. It was not culture shock, it was “EWB vs. reality” shock. 7 weeks ago I remember talking to Robin Stratas, an (AMAZING!) overseas volunteer who has been here for 1 year now. I was telling her how, after being hammered at by EWB about how innovative, amazing, smart, and driven people in rural communities are, all I was seeing was a culture of complacency. Of grim acceptance. Of antagonism to change.

I beat myself up over this fact. The first six weeks of my placement, I pushed myself to find that model EWB representation of Africa. I shot myself down into exhaustion: I’m not being open enough. I’m not looking hard enough. I’m not being compassionate enough. I’m not asking enough questions. I’m not integrating enough. I’m looking at things from a too-Western point-of-view. Some of this was true. But as time went on, some realizations dawned on me. On one of the large pieces of flipchart paper taped to my mud-hut wall, I wrote the following and read it every morning:

“1) This is your experience. Don’t try and make it fit a preset idea. 2) Practice honesty. 3) Live in the moment.”

So I started experiencing what was, not what I wanted there to be. Just like people in EWB do not represent all the people in Canada, people EWB promotes don’t represent all of Africa. Or rural Ghana. Like in Canada, people are people here. There are bad people, good people, strong people, weak people, smart people, not-so-smart people… People with different strengths and weaknesses that weave the tapestry of any society.

And yes, there is a culture of complacency. People want change, people want “development.” But people don’t want to step outside whats already there. And why would they? In a culture that punishes mistakes, disallows experimentation, and where knowledge is not power, why would someone put their lives on the line? And look at the risk: if you fail, you let your whole family down. There is no cushioning, unemployment is widespread, there are  no systems that will allow people to innovate and be creative. At school, there is a rote, top-down education system where failure is not a learning opportunity, but a death sentence.

Now what is our role, as development workers? How ethical is what we do? Is it our right to push for change people aren’t completely receptive to, but that leads to change that they desperately want? And herein lies the rub.

Swirl these things in your mind, think about them. But I really want you to think about this as well: amongst all this ambiguity, I have never believed as STRONGLY as I do now in the work I’m doing. I’ve never felt as connected to people here as I do now. I have so much love for this place and this work, all of it. I believe and support the necessity for EWB’s brand, the purpose of which is to dismantle the negative and inaccurate misrepresentation of Africa pushed by other organizations. Ghana is just a place. It’s people are just human. Like Canada. There are problems, there are systemic issues, and there IS potential. As an organization, we have and will make mistakes. We’ll learn. As people, in Canada, EWB, and Ghana, we’ll all make mistakes. And we’ll learn. We just have to remain humble & critical.

—

Four days ago.

“How do you explain this to them?” I was talking to Duncan, a fellow EWB volunteer. You see, there are actually two EWB volunteers in Saboba. Saboba is one of two districts where both our Governance and Agriculture programs are being run. But for work and cultural integration’s sake, Duncan and I have been careful to see each other in moderation. Nonetheless, our conversations are some of the most high-yielding in realizations.

I had gone over to Duncan’s family’s compound, a less-than-five minute walk from where I’m living. We were talking about the experience of being here. Of working in development. Of struggling to understand realities, and especially of finding the balance between what you accept as cultural difference and what you don’t.

I was telling Duncan: “The Dagomba man on the trotro, while I was coming from Tamale, was adamant that ‘villagers don’t like to spend money. Even if they make it, they won’t spend it!’” At the time I had taken that statement with a grain of salt, because there are many social-stature complexities and perceptions between town people and village people, let alone city people. After hearing it many times since then, however, and after seeing evidence of it myself, I’ve started to attach a little bit of weight to what that man said to me nearly 2 months ago.

But even if it’s true; even if it’s common for people to not spend money to improve their lifestyle; why? Well, the family support network and peoples’ willingness to help each other always strikes me here in rural Ghana as something amazing. But like everything, there is a down side to it. If you are seen to be rich; hell, not even rich, but just slightly better off than another… people will ask you for money. For support. Extended family, very extended, will turn to you for school fees. Fellow villagers will ask you to help them pay for tractor rentals. As soon as you become slightly successful, you have to choose between giving your wealth away or being ostracized. Why? Because wealth and success is not widespread, and because people expect much more from each other than they can give. And people would rather see their family starve, than put their support network at risk.

“I know Elijah can afford to feed his family. I know that he’s doing not-bad. He’s paying for his sisters’ schooling as well. But then why are his children not getting enough food? They barely eat, unless at night.” This is what Duncan and I were talking about. “It’s not that they don’t want it.” You’re just going to have to trust my observations on this.

“But I, as the guest, get a wholesome breakfast and dinner (I’m at work during lunch time).” I can’t share my breakfast with the kids, which I really want to do everyday, since it’ll be taken as an insult to hospitality. And I’ve broken enough hospitality rules in the name of cultural integration. So every morning, as I eat my delicious Guinea Fowl eggs, I watch Elijah’s children go hungry with a smile on their face. It becomes difficult to swallow.

“How do I explain that this is not cruel? How do I explain the complexities?” I was asking Duncan.

“You’re right,” Duncan said. “Canadians would not understand this. They would think Elijah is a bad man, they wouldn’t understand.” I nodded in agreement, “they would not understand.”

—

“How were the communities chosen?” I asked the man from Accra, who was driving the pick-up as we sped along dirt roads. I had joined the two scouts from the Government of Ghana’s National Electrification Program who were tagging GPS coordinates for communities set to get electricity over the next year or so. The air-conditioned pick-up was a stark contrast to the sweat that I could see on women’s faces as they walked miles beside us on the same road, carrying loads on their heads I probably couldn’t lift. I felt uncomfortable. I had become too used to the more common form of transport into the field, motorbikes.

Fred replied “MPs and the District Chief Executive (DCE). They were told by parliament to propose 20 communities to receive power.” No rigor, no data, no process. Just the opinions and whims of two politicians. It makes sense; in my (fairly uninformed) opinion, the National Electrification Program is a political maneuver, a tactic the current government is using to win over voters. Everyone wants electricity. I know from talking to people that the power lines won’t be extended immediately. It’ll be sometime next year. Of course; it’s perfect: choose strategic communities whose votes need to be won over, and just months before the 2012 election give them electricity.

We passed by the DCE’s community: it’s on the list. MP’s community: on the list. We passed a community that had been granted power in the past: it was the previous minister’s community. “Politicians are wicked people!” Fred winked at me.

“Maybe” I thought. But I know, from spending some time with him, that the DCE is a genuine and good man. He works 7 days a week, is out campaigning at communities early in the morning (6 am), is very down-to-earth, and wants good for his people. But his activities, while they are politically inclined, are just symptoms of a larger problem. He has a lot of pressure on his head; he is the current government’s representative in Saboba, and is reporting directly to the President. And the political competition is fierce.

But does that warrant decisions that affect thousands of lives? Electricity doesn’t just mean light for a village; it means granaries, access to a phone, lower birthrates (ask me about this later)… it means teachers and medical personnel are more inclined to work in the area, which means better education and health care. So are the whims of political powers justified? No. But are good intentions good enough?

I can’t help wondering… if the data was there, if the attitudes to use it were there, would the DCE choose some communities more objectively?

—

Today, I was leaving the office around 6:30. The DCE and I, as usual, were the only people in the District Assembly structure on a Sunday. I went to see him in his office, where he had just finished a long and unsuccessful land-conflict resolution meeting. He looked exhausted. I grinned, and he replied “our people… they can’t keep doing this!”

“Yeah,” I said, “there are bigger problems to worry about.”

“Exactly.” His phone rang; he answered, and quickly finished. “I have malaria,” he said. “And he’s still working,” I thought.

Not wanting to bother him now, and knowing he leaves for Accra tomorrow, I said “sometime before I leave, lets go grab a beer and talk.” I was walking on egg shells here, not knowing how he’d react to such casualness. But if my observations of him are correct, he is just as tired of people treating him like a king because he is the DCE, as I am because I’m a foreigner. I looked tentatively, a split second of quietness, and his face broke into a large grin.

“Okay! That sounds great!” I sighed with relief. Apart from just getting to know an interesting person: Strategically, and importantly, there are some tough questions and issues I’ve been wanting to explore with the DCE, not to mention buy-in on the work I’m doing. It’s time that I tackle these things.

—

With less than four weeks left in Saboba, I need your help! I have too much to say and limited time, so what do you want to hear about for the next two blog posts?

Search for the Goat Killer

July 18th, Saboba. 5:00 pm.

We were sitting in the office, Thomas and I. The bright heat of the Sunday afternoon, coupled with a busy few days and an oncoming cold were weighing down on me, and I slid in and out of focus as Thomas talked about decentralization to Joseph, the Ghanaian university student we were meeting with. Periodically, a light breeze would dare slip through the screened windows; it felt like heaven on my sweaty face every time it happened.

Thomas’s ring tone snapped me out of it, and I sat up as he had a rapid phone conversation in Linkpapa. I shook the sleep out of my eyes, trying to hide my tiredness, and stood up to stretch. Thomas got off the phone, and calmly stated: “I must get home.. Umm, my wife says someone’s killed my goats.” My sleep vanished immediately.

“Ayh!! But why?!” Joseph started. Sensing an interesting experience coming on, I hopped on a motorbike with Joseph while Thomas got on another. We made our way through the convoluted network of small dirt paths across the vast fields of the savanna to the outskirts of town, to Thomas’s village.

We arrived at Thomas’s house to his very angry wife. Madame Comfort is heavyset, with ever-ruffled hair and a composure that resonates strength. She has a large patch of pinkish-white skin under her chin, possibly from a burn in the past. She was one of the first people I met in Saboba, who taught me my first words in Linkpapa, and was always ready to crack jokes together. That was not true today, however.

Sweating from the heat, Madame Comfort scathingly explained the situation as a crowd gathered. As she was speaking, she unloaded the large, wide metal basin balanced on her head and dropped it on the ground. I concealed my surprise, as in it were two dead goats! Necks broken, curled together, I could smell the growing stench of their flesh. I stared at the eyes of one of them, open, cold, and dead. Flies crawled across the eyeballs, and I thought “ugh, that would be so uncomfortable! If only the goat would blink…”

Meanwhile, around me, the conversation went on in Linkpapa. I looked at Joseph, waiting for a translation. Suddenly, the crowd – now grown to about 10 people – was moving. Comfort lifted the goats back on her head, and we all walked across several fields to the entrance of another compound.

The compound was unkempt, with a broken mud wall that reminded me of old ruins. Brush, garbage, and feces from various animals (hopefully only animals) was everywhere. Small fields around the compound had been farmed in haphazard lines, freshly plowed and sowed for the rainy season. Several goats were tied up here and there, to anything from logs to large pots. A man, shirtless, probably in his mid-twenties, was lounging outside the compound. He got up from his small island of shade as we approached. His mannerism was loose and uncouth.

Madame Comfort began speaking aggressively, pointing at the goats and the man alike. She was accusing someone (I think someone the man knew) of killing the goats. An exchange of ideas took place, people talked about what they had witnessed, and examined the goat carcasses offering their best guesses to the means and the time of the killing. A suspect was decided on, contrary to Comfort’s suspicions, and after calming her down we got on the motorbikes again and drove to another nearby community to visit the suspect.

“There is no reason for this! The goats were tied up, and all the crops in the area are yet to germinate!” Thomas was annoyed. Apparently if the goats had eaten someone’s crop, the killings would have been more justified.

Upon arriving at yet another compound, I caught a brief glimpse of a man bolting into a mud hut as we walked in. We greeted the women who were cooking food, and took a seat on a nearby wooden bench to be received by the landlord. We didn’t have to wait long. The man who had run into the hut walked out, looking fresh; he had just taken a bath. He was an older man, somewhere in his late-fifties or early-sixties. He grabbed a stool for himself and Thomas explained the situation in Linkpapa. In my mind, he was (in a roundabout way) asking “did you kill my goats?”

The man, calmly (by Ghanaian standards), denied the allegations and explained himself. Apparently this man owns a field beside the crime scene, where he farms. I looked into his eyes; I thought to myself “this is an honest man.” It was crystal clear he wasn’t deceiving us. I think Thomas shared my assessment, since we got up and decided to revisit the crime scene. “It must have been that shirtless man! There was something off about him…”

Back on the motorbike, this time with the old man joining us with his, our mini-cavalcade made it’s way back to the unkempt compound. The shirtless man was still there, and a brief argument ensued. Thomas and the old man went to the middle of the field, looking at the crops (that hadn’t germinated) and talking about the allegations. Joseph and I talked to the shirtless man, who said that the old man was denying making threatening comments towards animals coming close to his farm, just earlier in the day. Clearly, if he’s denying it, he must be guilty!

“Not necessarily,” Joseph explained, since the goats looked bloated and therefore had been dead for quite a while. The shirtless man, pointing to the sky, and estimated (using the position of the sun) that the old man was tending his fields around 2 o’clock. So it mustn’t be him…

We all returned then to Thomas’s compound, behind which his wife was standing with a group of familiar faces from the community. More questioning, more deliberating, and it was decided (with conviction this time) that a man named Bisuwaa was responsible. Thomas’s wife’s original suspicions were right! We then walked to Bisuwaa’s house, to confront him; he wasn’t there, but we talked to some people who confirmed that he was the killer.

Next stop: police station. Another short ride on the motorbike. Thomas wanted to file a complaint, which resulted in us being lectured by a deluded police chief on why we didn’t come directly to the police station. He was angry because of all the investigation that had already been done. His reaction would make sense if the police were competent, but all my interactions with police here have highlighted that they are even more dysfunctional than the district government. The complaint was filed, and proceedings began. It was past 7 now, so we went home for the day.

—

Thomas came into the office today, victorious because the killer has been arrested and is behind bars till he pays the GHC 60 per goat (a total of GHC 120, about $100). Arrested?! The jail cells here are terrible!

“Goats are not that expensive,” I inquired.

“No, but they were going to reproduce! I have to factor that in…” Thomas replied. “But the ones you buy, they will also reproduce…” I thought in my mind, but let it pass as another observation of attitudes in rural Ghana.

“That man is a butcher! He kills and sells animals everyday!” Thomas exclaimed. “He’s becoming notorious-oh!” But by definition, a butcher kills animals…” I just smiled inside at my own non-understanding and continued working.

—

Just another day in Saboba! I refrained from writing up all my thoughts and analysis of everything, because I figured this is just a good story and a break from serious blog posts. Let me know what you think! Feel free to ask questions!

Ripples in Turbulent Water

Meeting the community of N-Nalog, with the chief (far left) and the assemblyman (far right)

“How many boreholes do you have?” Sitting on a wooden bench surrounded by a large group of men and children, we pitched this question to the community of N-Nalog. It was around 5 pm, and the sun could be seen to be losing power as it made it’s way behind the vast fields we were sitting at the edge of. I had spent the day with George, the district director of community development, visiting communities all over the district. N-Nalog was our last stop on the way back, about 10-15 km outside of Saboba town. We had also luckily ran into the assembly man (elected representative) of the area, who joined us for the meeting.

“No borehole.” Sitting on a low chair, the elderly man who is the chief of the village replied to us in Linkpapa. He told us how once a borehole had been dug, but many people got sick and poisoned from it because it was on a fluoride deposit. As a result, that one borehole had been capped shut.

The banks of River Oti.

“Ah! Where do you get water from, then?”

“We get it from the river. But it’s far!” River Oti is at least 5 km from this place, probably more. The women would be carrying upwards of 25 L a day per person in the family.

“And what do you use it for? The water.”

“Bathing, food, drinking…”

“And before drinking do you do anything to it?”

The man from the community who spoke some English laughed. “No, we’re not doing anything. We just take it.” After further questioning, the man told us that the kids are often sick, usually with vomiting and diarrhea. I also asked the assembly man why the water was not boiled or treated before drinking. He replied that there is no time for the women to do it as they are fetching water often, and that they have to be doing other things around the house.

Water is a huge issue in Saboba. As of last year, the water coverage in the district was 38% (so out of the 62,000 people in the district, less than 24,000 have adequate access to potable water). As a result, water-borne diseases and parasites are common; and some of them can be extremely debilitating. Guinea worm is one of most concern, and only recently through an intense ongoing eradication campaign has the occurrence in Ghana decreased.

—

“They wanted to drill 30 boreholes. That ahh, World Vision.” I was walking outside in the scorching heat with Douglas, one of the most dedicated district officers. We were making our way to his office, in the Works (engineering) department. Douglas was telling me about how at the end of last year, World Vision approached the district assembly with their 2010 budget that allocated the drilling of 30 boreholes in the district.

Saboba has had two EWB volunteers in the past who have spent one year each with the district assembly. Both had worked with Douglas’s office. Two years ago, Nick Heminez (click for his blog) had developed a water-prioritization tool with Douglas. Using a series of different factors for a community (water sources, coverage, distance to source, guinea worm, diarrhea, money, etc) the excel database assigns each community a score. This score can then be compared across communities to see which is in most need of a borehole, based on all these important factors. Douglas and I were discussing this tool.

“So how did you tell them which communities?” I asked about World Vision’s request.

Douglas replied they had used the water tool, combined with data that had been collected in February 2009. “I sorted it from largest to smallest,” Douglas said.

My heart jumped, I wanted to scream with joy. 30 communities got water access, and those who needed it the most. I know Nick’s placement at the time had been extremely frustrating, but here over one year after he left, boreholes are being drilled in critical areas.

There is no way of knowing that if the tool wasn’t there, the priority communities would have received boreholes anyway. It is very possible, since Douglas has a really good memory of communities’ individual situations. So did we (EWB) result in this happening? Maybe. I think we played a part, but the human factors stop us from knowing for certain. But the bottom line is that Douglas selected the communities, not EWB. World Vision is drilling boreholes, not EWB. This is the sustainability we’re talking about.

Oh, as a side note: World Vision, despite their short-comings, are doing good work here in Saboba. There is a problem, though: they are using an inefficient, imported, expensive hand-pump model called India Mach II. As a result, due to lack of capacity and unavailable parts the district cannot repair the boreholes World Vision drills. This is a huge problem, that Douglas often complains about. The district assembly uses the cheaper (and frankly, better) Afridev pump using local parts. Whoever calls/contacts World Vision to find out why they use these imported pumps – and comments on this post – will get an authentic Ghanaian souvenir from me! Click here to email them.

“So why isn’t the data updated?” I asked Douglas.

Douglas said there was too much to update. Working with Douglas, I have removed some of the less important indicators from the water tool and integrated it into the broader database we’re working with now. I’ve also added a function that assigns scores for communities that need borehole repairs, as well as those that need sensitization on water issues. We’ve talked about different channels of information from communities, such as assembly men/women. What happens next?

—

The trends in education. The purple line are standardized test scores, and the other three are enrollment numbers at different levels of school.

June 30th. Saboba.

I spent about 2 hours with the Director of Education, Phillip, in the morning. We have been interacting a lot, while I develop the Education section of the database with his department. I was showing him the work that has been done thus far, and we went through some scenarios of where certain resources could be allocated (ie. where to post the next qualified teacher) based on the graphs generated by the database. One thing that really stuck him was a graph that showed rising enrollment over the last 3 years contrasted with the falling test scores.

Later in the afternoon, Phillip was giving a closing address to a Junior-High-School quiz competition, with a number of Ghana Education Staff present. I was sitting in my office, but his voice carried from the assembly hall and I heard him say: “If you look at the enrollment for 2007, 2008, 2009, it’s going up. But your performance is going down. Why?! What can we do, because this is a big problem!”

A chill shot up my spine and I had goosebumps from excitement. It’s not huge, but it’s a step. This is behavior change at it’s core: messy, slow, erratic, but in the end, powerful.

Where would you assign teachers, if resources were limited?

July 2nd. Saboba.

I arranged a meeting between the District Coordinating Director (one of the head honchos) and Phillip, along with officers from Education, Thomas and Patience from the district assembly, and Dan Olsen (EWB team lead visiting from Tamale) where we started a dialogue between the two directors with regards to the database.

“With this information on my computer, when I talk to regional about Saboba I can show them I know what I’m talking about.” Phillip continued: “If we had to build a school, and the politicians say they want it one place, with this we can say ‘there is no argument.’”

“Ah, no, the politicians can still have their way,” the Coordinating Director said half-jokingly. He was right, there are too many ways to circumvent the system. But that’s true to a degree all around the world, and it will take time for the system to gain more power over individuals. And it’ll take strong individuals willing to invest in the system – like Phillip, like Douglas – to make that happen.

—

When I’m demotivated, frustrated, angry, or feeling a host of other emotions characteristic to working here, I turn to these small successes to keep me going. They aren’t sexy successes we can put up on donation cards like many NGOs do, they aren’t easy-to-understand successes that appeal to our desire for common good.

In my opinion, however, they are symptoms of progress towards critical change at the lynch-pins of a massive system. We are trying to change something so massively huge with a history, culture, and people so intricately complex that there are no easy answers; to anything. But this is true “development.”

Imagine… because of one small change and one sharp officer (Douglas), 30 communities got boreholes allocated. That’s water enough for 9000 people. 0 Guinea worm cases – directly correlated to water source – have been reported in the district of Saboba this year. We cannot cannot attribute these things to any one factor. We can try and have an idea, but ultimately the fact that they are happening is good enough.

The change we are trying to catalyze, in people, in the system, in the processes… when successful its effects reverberate across the board and the benefits are huge. But there is no one person, organization, or initiative that can be responsible. But why is that important?

What’s on the Menu?

Food! It’s an amazing thing. Walking down the streets of Saboba, Tamale, Yendi… you name it and you’ll almost always be greeted by a series of smells embodying the flavors of Ghanaian cuisine. Women tending to massive pots that contain their merchandise for the day, large logs sticking out of the roaring fires on which the cauldrons rest. I (within reason) try as many new things as possible, whether it be a small fried snack-item or plastic bags filled with random-colored fluid that market women have insisted I drink. Yeah, typhoid is definitely possible, but the experience makes it completely worth it. Not to mention delicious. Most of the time.

I can’t possibly describe it all, but here is a glance into some of the main eats in Ghana. Lots of pictures for you to enjoy! (due to technical issues, all the pictures are together at the bottom of the post)

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Coco being poured

Showcase Item #1: Coco and Bowlfruit (Traditional Breakfast)

Coco is the Ghanaian equivalent of porridge. Liquidy, smooth, and thick, you are served it in a container to drink if you are eating where you buy it. Otherwise, like all Ghanaian goods, it is given to you in a plastic bag. Just as a side note, everything in Ghana comes in a plastic bag: drinks, water, bread, egg, coffee, and more. Anyway, coco is made from fermented maize, groundnut, and a bunch of spices. Some volunteers love it, some hate it. I love it. It’s amazing! Coco is eaten with the Ghanaian equivalent of a doughnut: bowlfruit. These round doughballs are addictive, but definitely not healthy to eat a lot of.

“Madame! Undopoi!” I greet the coco lady every morning by asking her how her morning is.

“Lafiebi!” She tells me it’s fine. “Fine” is the standard response in Ghana to any question.

“Um ba 2000 coco and sugar, and 2000 bowlfruit.” I order my filling 28-cent breakfast. “My friends it Canada, I want to show them coco. Can I take your picture?” The lady laughed and nodded, resulting in the above picture. Check out more pictures of coco and bowl fruit at the end of the post!

—

Boiled yams with beans and stew, in a bag ready for eating

Showcase Item #2: Boiled Yams with Beans (I do this for lunch sometimes)

Especially in Saboba, yams are in widespread use. Generally, due to bad roads and low access to outside markets, the main foods eaten in rural communities tend to depend on what’s farmed there the most. Though boiled yams are available in most places in Northern Ghana, Saboba has an abundance for use.

Yams are also available fried, but I like the boiled stuff because its softer and available with beans. Fried yams are really good too, though, and come with a spicy sauce made from tomato and “pepe” (a kind of red chilli).

—

Eating t-zed (the bowl on the left), with a stew I don't remember (right). Also note the soap and bowl of water, which is how I clean my hands before eating.

Showcase Item #3: T-Zed!!

“Some people will even eat one meal in the day.” Yousif was telling me about the people in the communities who are, as he says, living in “absolute poverty.” There are many factors (in and out of peoples’ control) that result in this, but that is a different discussion.

“But every night, whatever the matter, everyone must get T-Zed. We call it our constant. No matter what happens, the one meal people will get is T-zed.” Yousif continued, with conviction. And it’s true. When I get home every night, T-zed is there. In fact, the Konkomba word for food, “bissa,” actually means “T-zed.”

T-zed is dough that is kneaded over high heat, made from different grains depending on where you go. The traditional, village t-zed is maize-and-cassava based.  It is eaten by grabbing some with your hand, kneading it a bit in your fist, and dipping it into a stew of some kind. This stew is usually made from “brra” (habiscus), groundnut, “okro” (okra), or ayoyo (a really slippery, gooey spinach-type vegetable). Fish is often added into the stew, but in Ghanaian culture you must “chew your meat” separate from the food. I’ve been told the belief is that meat is precious, so why water down the flavor by mixing it into the food?

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A calabash of pito

Showcase Item #4: Pito (Traditional Liquor)

Pito is brewed almost everywhere in Northern Ghanaian communities, and is a slightly sweet drink made from Guinea corn. The corn is harvested (basically looks like branches), dried, and then thrashed. Thrashing is done by laying out the grain on the floor, then taking massive logs of wood and swinging it vertically (imagine a full-body motion) down on the branches. Its definitely one of the most physically intense activities. At the end you collect and burn the branches, and what’s left is the grain (see picture). This grain is then allowed to germinate (see picture), boiled together with this other plant to allow for easier fermenting and filtering (see picture), then fermented with yeast (see picture). The end result is… pito! All the pictures are at the bottom of the post.

Often when you go to get pito, you’re asked if you want the “hard one” or the “soft one.” The picture above is the “soft one.” Also, in general pito tastes different from place to place, which is really cool because there’s no way to know what you’re gonna get!

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This is where food (maize, rice, cassava, etc) is stored by families in the village

How food is stored in the village:

I vaguely remember someone asking me about this, so I figured I’d report back with a pretty interesting answer! Farmers store their grain, rice, etc (major foodstuffs) in a big round mud structure that has no door. “I put many layers,” Elijah points to the thatched roofing on the food storage. “Otherwise the rain will make it all bad.”

Periodically, the family will open up the storage by removing the thatched roofing to fetch supplies for a couple of weeks. Inside, the structure is sub-divided into several sections to allow for different types of supplies (see pictures).

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