Ghana Reflections: what we did & what I learned

Coming to America.

No matter when you visit New York City, Times Square is an overwhelming spectacle. Skyscrapers, lights and sounds, great (expensive) food and restaurants, and a sea of people each engrossed in their own world. As I passed through Times Square walking from Penn Station to Grand Central last Sunday, I felt worlds away from Ghana. I spent the one hour train ride back to West Point reflecting on what our team did this summer, and what I learned along the way.

What we did.

Seven weeks in Ghana allowed our team to support a local non-governmental organization, Madamfo Pa, by teaching in the local schools, doing construction work to help build a library for the community, and sewing quilts that Madamfo Pa would sell for funds to support their projects.

During the first couple of weeks our team observed where best we could serve. I found my niche teaching grades 1-3 in the local school. With no formal training as a teacher, my greatest contribution was simply to encourage the children to love learning and enjoy school. Ghana's cities are developing rapidly, but the education system will prove inadequate if the rural areas don't keep pace in terms of education. Our team's parting gift to the village's primary school was a mural of the world painted on the side of the school building.

One of the summer's highlights was the Crossroads Cup, a soccer tournament our group organized for the community. Six teams from different villages participated in the event, and hundreds came to watch the action. It was a great exercise for me in terms of working with community leaders. I outlined our vision for the tournament, and the head-teacher took it from there, putting together a successful event.

The Crossroads Cup Penalty Kick Shootout
Marfokrom, Ghana

As a group we worked to educate the community at large on sanitation and health. In our final days in the village we donated trash cans and talked to the local leaders about the importance of disposing of waste in environmentally friendly ways. Ghana, like much of Africa, has a trash problem. Streets, neighborhoods, and almost every public area is littered with waste from water satchels to food wrappers. It will take years to clean up the country, but in the village of Marfokrom small steps of progress are being made.

A few of us branched out in other ways, too. One afternoon I taught one of the children how to use Microsoft Word at the nearest internet cafe, and at church one Sunday I had the chance to speak at a local church service with the support of a translator. Soccer proved to be my most effective means of making friends (with ping pong a close second), as I coached a team at recess, helped organize the soccer tournament, watched a professional match in Kumasi, and played for the local team in a tournament.

And, of course, we travelled. We spent a weekend in Kumasi experiencing West Africa's largest market, a weekend in Cape Coast re-tracing President Obama's footsteps and visiting Africa's oldest European built castle, and a few final days on the beach.

Along the way I ate goat and banku, got around in tro-tros, received treatment through Ghana's universal healthcare system, learned some 'Twi', and even gave a sworn statement in a local police station. The seven weeks went by all too fast.

Our team's last dinner in Accra.

What we learned.

When you live in a village where the richest still make less than $1.50 a day, you learn a lot about poverty, life, and what's truly important. The lessons that we learned are many, but a few stand out above the rest.

First, Africa - and Ghana in particular - is a rich country. Despite the oil and resources, the country is not rich economically; the majority of their citizens make well less than $2 a day, and corruption creates a headache for a national economy with unlimited potential. Even so, Ghana is rich in hospitality, and its people are rich in their zeal for life, community, and God. After spending five minutes with a Ghanaian I would typically conclude that they're much better off than most Americans, as most Americans would surely envy their contentedness, value of family and friendships, and humility.

Fun with rocks: "San San Kro Ma"

Spending time in the school we learned that the problems with education in Ghana are mainly institutional. Despite the promise that the children show, their potential is unlikely to ever be met without teachers who are better trained and better paid.

As a group we also learned about each other. A group of nine foreigners working with five Ghanaian counterparts, we learned how to adapt to difficult living conditions, budget and plan an operation according to the group's mission, and overcome challenges we faced through group conflicts, individuals leaving the group early, and sicknesses. After seven weeks together, the people who were strangers to me in June now feel like family.

We learned how to carry water on our heads, how to cook meals over an open fire, how to wash our clothes by hand, and how to shower with just a bucket of water. And perhaps best of all, we learned how to make much of little, use minimal resources for great undertakings, and become a part of a true community where life is public and possessions, joys, and hardships are shared.

It was a summer I hope to never forget, and a part of the world I look forward to returning to some day. Thanks for reading.

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The best of the summer's pictures

All 600+ pics on Flickr

Long Goodbyes to Ghana

I hate goodbyes. But after our six weeks in the village of Marfokrom expired, it was time to tip our hats to the place we called home this summer.

It was especially difficult to explain to the community that we were unlikely to return. Against my best judgment, I told the guys on the soccer team and a few of the teachers that maybe one day I could find my way back. In any case, I'll miss waking up in Marfokrom in the coming days and weeks.

Oddly enough, the best way to stay in touch with the people in the village is via cell phone. Most have no access to computers or e-mail, and the mail system is unreliable and painstakingly slow, leaving cell phone communication as the best alternative. Since returning to the US I have already received two phone calls from people in the village.

After we packed up the tro-tro one last time in Marfokrom we set off for a week of travel and relaxation to ease the transition process back to the U.S. We spent a weekend in Cape Coast (the city where Barack Obama gave his July address on his foreign policy goals for Africa), visited the oldest European built slave castle in Africa at Elmina, and spent a few last days on the beach before heading to Accra to catch our Saturday flight home.

Pictures are the best way to blitz through the highlights of our team's final week:

Overlooking the fishing village of Elmina from Elmina Castle.

In front of an American owned taco shack five minutes down the beach from the Green Turtle Lodge.

Our team's final dinner on our last night in Accra.

Kwabena's African Soccer Debut

I thought my soccer career was over when I handed in West Point's uniform more than two years ago. But last Saturday I joined the Marfokrom Under-17 team to play in a two day tournament in a nearby village. The experience was sensational, and the details are many. Rather than make this into a full length Sports Illustrated story I'll focus on the highlights: football ages, singing and dancing, and match-fixing.

This was a travel soccer tournament. But rather than load up the team's minivan-caravan in a hotel parking lot, our team met at the fork in the road that serves as the center of Marfokrom and walked a mile down the road to Otoase, the village hosting the tournament. When we arrived we watched a few of the first matches, as there were three age groups of four teams at the tournament: Under-12, Under-14, and Under-17. Why, as a 21 year old, I was invited to play, was a confusing question initially. Enter football ages.

I'm 21 years old. But my football age is evidently less than 17, as no one seemed to have a problem with me joining the U-17 Marfokrom team for the competition. As I would later learn, every player in Africa has a 'football age' and an actual age. In fact, I was one of the youngest players in the starting 11 at age 21; our forwards were both 25 and our goalie was 28. Thus, the U-17 age bracket serves as the men's league. After seeing the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I left with (no shinguards in Africa), I'd hate to see what would happen to a kid under the age of 17 who attempted to play in this league legally.

What was more fascinating than the football ages was the pre-game rituals. After suiting up in our Arsenal jerseys, we began to prepare for the match. As a warm-up we simply ran in a circle for about 10 minutes, and then passed a ball between ourselves briefly. But the real excitement came with the singing and dancing that ensued following the stretching. In a very tight circle, with the captain standing in the middle leading us, we clapped, sang, and danced. Though I didn't know most of the songs, I did recognized a few from church. We sang about seeing "Jesus standing on a corner singing Alleluia day by day," and then concluded with what amounted to a remix of the Lord's prayer. The captain then led our team in an actual prayer (a child translated roughly for me), and then we joined hands in rows of two to walk onto the pitch. This type of warm-up definitely trumps the solitude of listening to your iPod alone in a dressing room or hearing a drawn out pep-talk. When it was time for kick off, these guys were loose and ready to go.

What I love about soccer/football/futbol is that no matter which continent you play it on, the game trumps any language barrier that might exist. Our coach 'featured' me at center-midfield, a position that relies on communication to direct traffic and through balls through the middle of the pitch. Still, I was able to play confidently and use the simple phrases "ba bra" (come, pass the ball) and "coh bra" (pass and go) to work with the surrounding players. I was pretty rusty, but managed to play well enough that the supporters were pleased with the "obruni's" (white man's) performance. Every header and pass was echoed with the crowd's happy approval and shock at my participation, as an American, in the world's game.

Our team tied the first game 1-1, lost the second 1-0 on a last minute header, and lost the last match 3-1 after we sold it so another team could get 1st place (no kidding). The latter practice is called match-fixing. After our bad luck in the second match, I was psyched to go out and get a win in the third match to finish respectively, with a win, a loss and a draw. My team had different ideas. In the first half of the last match I set up our team's one goal, collecting an assist before sprinting my hardest to catch the goal scorer as he darted to the corner for his celebratory dance with the team. But in the second half I was taken out, and our team gave up three goals in quick succession. Confused, I asked our captain why we broke down; and worse why he did a somersault after the final whistle. "Because we sold the match," came his simple reply.

We sold our final match because win or lose we wouldn't have gotten first place, so we wouldn't have collected any prize money. But by selling the match to the champion, we could collect a small share of the reward and come out with something to show for the weekend's efforts. Fascinating. Morally appalling... but fascinating. It was an amusing ending to a tournament that I will not soon forget.