Hi Friends. I’ve left the capital Accra and moved to a small town called Ho, located in the Volta Region not far from the Togo border on the eastern edge of Ghana.
I’m definitely NOT in the big city anymore; and am living in rural Africa, surrounded by mountains, banana trees, and lush green forests. People can be seen walking for miles along the barren highway, carrying jugs of water and parcels on their heads. Around me, there are mud huts, thatched roofs, and dusty red roads that lead further and further away from the 21st century.
Ho is home to the Ewe (pronounced “Eh-veh”), which is both the language and the people of the Volta region. The Ewe are accomplished agriculturists, known for, amongst other things, their expert cultivation of yams. The annual yam festival, celebrated in September, is certainly a highlight of the calendar year.
I know what you’re thinking. “Yams? Why, they are delicious!!!” Yeah...I thought that, too. Unfortunately for me, the African yam is not the sweet, orange variety I’m accustomed to eating back home. They are white and starchy; more akin to a root vegetable rather than anything that warrants melted butter and marshmallow topping. In Ghana, they are pounded into a thick, gelatinous paste to make fufu- a steaming bowl of yam balls, submerged in a spicy goat soup, and eaten entirely by hand. It is a most unfortunate turn of events for me because I do not eat meat.
One of my many downfalls in life, especially in relation to travel, is that I’m a finicky eater and a vegetarian which makes things extra challenging for me whenever I’m abroad. For breakfast each day at my hotel, I eat a plain onion omelet, which occasionally has cheese when it’s available. For dinner, I eat plain rice and steamed frozen vegetables. And if I’m around for lunch, I have french fries with ketchup. I found a small roadside market that sells imported Walker’s shortbread cookies that I can’t stop eating, and I snack on fried plantain chips and fresh mango, which pretty much sums up the entirety of my diet. Sometimes, when I’m feeling extra spunky, I switch around lunch and dinner and eat fries at night just to mix things up.
I very much enjoy the work I’m doing here. I knew nothing about microfinance before receiving my volunteer assignment, so I read three books on the subject before leaving home, and feel surprisingly up to speed on the key points I need to know.
Microfinance is where a very small loan is made to an individual, who, because of their level of poverty or lack of hard assets, would not otherwise qualify for a traditional bank loan. Microloans allow people to pursue self-employment opportunities to generate income, allowing them to better care for themselves and their families.
My assignment is to help small-scale farmers apply for microloans. Many community members don’t read or write, and most speak only Ewe, so either someone from the village or my organization helps with translation. I’m the only foreigner and white person in the entire equation, which is pretty awesome, so it’s just me and a colleague from the NGO that go into the villages.
I work with six different farming communities, many of which are located hours away from each other, and that in itself is quite an adventure! Sometimes, the road will simply end abruptly, so we get out of the truck and travel the rest of the way through the brush by foot, often in heat well over 100 degrees!
Once arrived and the appropriate greetings had been made, I administer a simple questionnaire that I helped to create for assessing the financial needs of each group. How large is the village? Who is their chief? Which crops do they grow there? How many chickens does each person own? What are the concerns and challenges of that particular group of farmers?
Sitting down with the individual community members and interviewing them one by one is by far my favorite part of the gig. When I saw some photos taken of me explaining microfinance to the Ghanaian people, I could swear that it’s the happiest I have ever seen myself.
When I’m not working, I typically relax at my hotel. The room is surprisingly comfortable and has a television with 3 channels!!! That’s a tremendous luxury, and I love having it. I also go running sometimes, which is quite an ordeal. First of all, it’s already hot at 6am, so that’s a lot to contend with. But I often get lost, which makes me nervous because I am usually very low on water by that point. And although I attempt to take mental notes along my route, such as: turn left at the mango tree, and go right after the goats; all the roads look the same, there are lots of mango trees, and those damn goats have long since walked away.
Whenever I get lost, I tend to genuinely startle people that I encounter. The very last thing they're expecting to see is some tiny blonde girl running through their community, and they become frozen in their tracks with surprise. It’s like they’ve just encountered an alien, but I get it. I look weird. And it freaks people out. So the best course of action is to simply say hello. Often my greeting is returned with enthusiasm, but sometimes they remain speechless and in shock, which I feel badly about.
Aside from reading and relaxing, I also spend time with the friends I’ve made in Ghana. A few weekends ago, I was invited to a wedding in someone’s backyard, with people dressed in their finest clothes, and chickens running around pecking at abandoned plates of rice.
As you might imagine, I am extremely popular with children. They follow me around like the Pied Piper, only instead of a magical flute, it is my long, blonde hair that mesmerizes them completely. Often, they want to play with my hair, which I always welcome– and secretly enjoy!
I’ve had some really special encounters here, too. One misty morning, while touring a farming village, I heard music in the distance, and learned that a prayer service was about to begin. I discreetly positioned myself behind a cement wall in the outdoor church, filming through a hole in the cinderblock so that my presence wouldn’t be a distraction. What unfolded was one of the most beautiful and magical moments I have ever experienced.
A procession of magnificently dressed worshippers slowly approached, singing and swaying amidst a backdrop of blooming pink magnolias. The rhythm of drums began to quicken, culminating in a glorious expression of joy and devotion. I eventually set down my camera and joined them, dancing barefoot at the crossroads of cultures, where love, life, and faith merged into a harmonious celebration of the human spirit.
I was told that I’m the only outsider to have ever witnessed this prayer service, so I will now invite you to see it, too! Here are the two short videos I shot that day. I hope that you enjoy them.
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