1 GOAT, 50 PEOPLE, ONE HELL OF A BLOCK PARTY-

This was part of my February newsletter (Feb 14). If you don't receive them and wish to, email me at nickjimenez8@gmail.com

It was a cold morning in the quiet village of Boagbaln. The mist was slowly subsiding as the warm pink glow from the rising sun was just creeping over the silhouettes of baobab trees. The guinea fowls were clucking, water was splashing as girls returned from fetching water, and men huddled around small bush fires to keep warm. But something was different this morning. Indeed, this morning, was the beginning of a day never seen before in Boagbaln.

Two co-volunteers, Mary Roach and Jen Hiscock, had come into town for the occasion. Just 2 weeks prior was my birthday and this weekend was to be the celebration. We started off by drinking tea and eating bread in my room, because the morning was too cold outside.

You may have remembered little Shaky, my pet goat. He was given to me on Christmas by my office, and today was going to be his day to shine. After three people assisted me in guiding it into our compound, we proceeded to kill it, and prep the meat for a formidable feast. All of Shaky would be cooked, though we kept one half of his rib cage to roast on the fire for a salty delight at lunch.

Finally 11:00am rolled around, and children started to gather outside my compound. For weeks in advance I had been telling all the children in my community that there would be a volleyball tournament on my party, and to start practicing. Jen, Mary, and I had fetched water that morning to fill up a large garbage bin with water, to hydrate all the toned athletes.

The net set at regulation height (2.43m) and a court chalked with ash from a bush fire, we were ready to begin. With music playing in the background, the games continued all afternoon, with both girls and boys playing equally. At one point there was a real nail-biter as the girls team was beating the boys team by a lead of 8.

Once the volleyball was finished, it was time for dinner. My host mother Dana had been cooking all day to prepare a great feast of local rice, tomato stew, and Shaky; which was quite delectable in the end. Friends came from town and almost 60 people were served that day, by the little goat that could.

After dinner was my favourite part of the whole day – the dance party. Playing local music to please the crowd, everybody was dancing within 50 minutes. Boys were two-stepping, girls were shaking what their mama’s gave them, and the little ones ran around clapping to the beat. But even those with the best moves were out done by the stylish ones. In the end, it was all about image.

We finished off the night by watching Matrix 2 and The Incredibles on a projection screen I borrowed from work. Every time Neo would send someone flying through a wall or do a back flip, cheering and applause followed. It was a fantastic day in the end, and for days after people were saying how they enjoyed it. It was a birthday like no other.

Humility Cocktail 2 – “Teach her Small”

I learned an important lesson today: I’m still quick to judge people, and have little tolerance for people who aren’t perfect off the bat. I’ve recently started running a district-wide survey, and have 14 field staff on my team and a secretary.

After a frustrating week with Jessica (secretary) in the office, who I originally pegged for slow, I needed to ask Douglas if something was wrong with her. After seeing that she was incapable of photocopying and putting together packages, reading, and then loading a staple; I seriously thought that she might just be a bit slow.

But when I asked Douglas, he was taken aback by my question. “That’s the problem with the education she receives! In the school they learn nothing, so when she comes on attachment [co-op] here, she is supposed to learn those skills” he defensively explains as though it were him I was calling slow. “In the office she learns nothing because there are 3 secretaries and only 1 computer. So she spends her time doing nothing.”

After hearing this my first reaction was that she IS here to learn. She’s not expected to come in being perfect, the reason why she is here is to be coached and taught how to do office work. I realize that her lack of skills is not a deficiency on her part, but an outcome of the failing education system I so often criticize.

“Can you use her for your work?” Douglas asks.

“I can use her for some work, such as photocopying and printing the packages. But I need somebody who can read the answers on the sheet, and then input that into the computer. Because she has trouble reading, it makes her almost useless to me for that task.”

This is when I get my second slap across the face of shame. Peter proceeds to say one of the simplest yet incredibly profound messages, in a genuine voice that sounded like a mother counseling a child.

“Teach her small. Just teach her small, and she will get better.”

At that moment, Peter transformed into a mirror, and I was staring at a reflection of myself. But my reflection didn’t look like me, instead I was looking at most of the Ghanaian directors I have often criticized for overworking certain staff and leaving others idle.

Finally being put into a leadership role, with the power to choose who to delegate work to, I realized the difficulty that Ghanaian directors face in working with their staff. It’s often the first observation any outsider will make. There are many people who have little to do and seem to just watch the days pass by idly, and there are few people who have too much to do.

I’ve always pegged the cause of this phenomenon as a capacity gap: a few highly skilled people, and many very low-skilled people. The result of which is that the many people who are far too unskilled to keep up with the pace of work, never get delegated work, and thus rarely grow. The highly skilled people get 80% of the work, get more experience and thus develop faster, and the cycle is perpetuated.

So now, in a position to perpetuate or combat this cycle, my first reflex was to fall into the same action as everybody else. My reason was what a micro-manager would normally say: ‘there’s not enough time’.

Thanks to Douglas and Peter, I was able to draw an important reflection out of the experience and avoid falling into a cyclical trap that restricts the growth of so many civil servants in Ghana. A trap that leads to mass underutilization of human resources and slows progress.

But what is almost more important than that reflection are the values that surfaced in Douglas and Peter’s reaction. First, the patience to work with people, even if they aren’t capable for the tasks; instead of rushing to achieve the outcomes of the project. Second, the faith to work with and help everybody, instead of giving up on people who aren’t ready right away.

“Teach her small” - Peter

Humility Cocktail – 1 part observation, 2 parts reflection

Sometimes in my less happy days here in Ghana, I can’t help but think that Ghanaian’s are a little rude by Canadian standards. NOT ALL GHANAIANS!! And I don’t actually think that. But there are instances where I can’t help but feel a little offended by the small insignificant things.

Staring is for starters. Walking through town sometimes, or most often when I am doing something out of the ordinary for a white person in Ghana, I get some stone cold stares. Not the friendly ones with hints of smiles at the edges of people’s lips. The blank expressionless stares, or worst, the ones that suggest disapproval or unhappiness.

Another thing that makes me frustrated sometimes is being called ‘O Kran Ja’, the local word for white man. While I realize that it is a simple way of referring to me out of a crowd of people, I can’t ignore my conditioning and feel somewhat offended by it. The worst is when someone will sit but a few feet away from me, have a conversation in the local language with one of my friends, co-workers, or family members; and say the word ‘O Kran Ja’ repeatedly throughout. “I know you’re talking about me, the least you could do is ask me my name or speak directly to me!!”

But after I have these gut reactions immediately follows a sense of regret and guilt. Nobody is trying to be rude to me, and I know this. The people who may stare don’t mean to be intimidating and will often bare their huge white smile when I break the tension with a greeting or a smile of my own. To be honest, they are only staring because they are interested or because I am doing something that is uncommon for someone like myself to be doing or shouldn’t be doing at all.

The ones who refer to me as ‘O Kran Ja’ also don’t mean to be derogatory in anyway. Sadly because of the past in North America, I am conditioned to see any labeling of skin color as being rude. However, nobody here will say “White Man!!” with a hint of racism. They are simply attaching an accurate adjective to what I happen to be – a man.

What I realize through all this is that I get that incorrect feeling of rudeness only because of my perspective. My Canadian standards make me feel that way. But what happens when I look at things from a Ghanaian standard.

Put bluntly – I’m RUDE!! EXTREMELY RUDE!! Ghanaian culture is one that is so friendly and open, that more often than not I don’t even recognize how rude I am being. Example: it is a given, that when you are eating or drinking anything, and somebody enters; you are to offer them what you are consuming. Saying “you are invited” is the proper way to do it.

I can’t count the number of times that I forget to say it, or worst, consciously don’t say it. Yes sometimes I feel selfish. I make sure to buy snacks on the way to work, so why should I have to share with people who never take the time to think ahead. Well Nick, that’s not very Ghanaian of you.

Another is when people are sick. Here in Ghana, when somebody you know is sick, you go and visit them. I know that we do the same in Canada, but here I guess it is a little harder because 1) you know everybody and 2) everybody is sick more often. So when my co-worker falls ill for a few days, and misses work for a day or two; I’m extremely rude by not going to see them. That’s right, frequently people will leave the office to go and visit so-and-so because they are sick in the hospital or in the house. My phone calls with good wishes are pitiful attempts at keeping up.

The last and most obvious is one I commit daily. When you are friends you talk to eachother. Most ex-pats will complain (and I’m not exempt) about how when you give out your phone number people will call you lots. Well that’s what friends do. When your friend travels, you call them to see how their journey was. When you haven’t talked to them in a week or so, you call them to see how they are doing.

The other aspect is just human interaction. When I’m walking through town to work and I see a friend, a wave of the hand and a greeting yelled does not suffice. Take the time to do a proper greeting. I can’t count the number of times when people come into my office at work and after a few minutes of exchanging niceties, I am back to my work. But then I am shamed when I look at my co-workers accepting their guests and hosting them accordingly. Walking through town with a co-worker takes twice as long, because they actually take the time to greet everybody they know properly.

There are countless other cultural faux-pas that I commit everyday. The fact of the matter is that we as ex-pats are lucky to have such understanding hosts. Often I’m sure I’m let off the hook because ‘I’m from Canada’. The way I rush through town to get to work, or force kind people to awkwardly ask: “Am I invited??”; get’s let go because local people are understanding.

The Ghanaians I interact with are sensitive enough to respect my cultural norms, and they don’t hold them against me. If they were as judgmental as I am about those superficial cultural inconsistencies, then I’m sure I wouldn’t have any friends by now. I have nothing but thanks for my extremely welcoming hosts, who make living in this country, away from loved ones, an easier transition.