Brandrews...Saturday!

I find endless humor in the fact that my brother's name - Andy- became "Andrew" because the Ghanaians aren't familiar with the name Andy. That quickly became "Andrews", which then turned into "Brother Andrews" and finally ended up as simply "Brandrews." Hahahaha.
Thursday night Andy was sitting outside with all the extended family while I worked on some college stuff (ok, I was actually writing emails, but in theory I was doing official work). He said that Victoria and the aunties kept periodically pausing in their Ewe chatter long enough to give him a tragic look and  mournfully say, "Brandrews...Saturday!" Heartwarming that my whole family was so sad to see him go, but their rather funny exclamation turned into a running joke the last couple days.

I just dropped him off at the airport about 2 hours ago, so now I'm currently sitting in a restaraunt in Accra, whiling away the evening before I can go home to Aflao tomorrow morning.

It was surprisingly hard to leave him there at the terminal.
I mean...I'm used to being away from Andy for long periods of time. He went to college 8 hours away (NMU, baby!), and he was usually gone for most of the summers to work, so separation is nothing new.
But today after we'd said our goodbyes and hugged our hugs...I couldn't seem to make my feet move.
Which is kinda shocking. My mom will tell you that since my first day of kindergarten I've never had a problem saying goodbye... But apparently leaving is a heck of a lot different than being left. Heading to Africa was a lot easier than staying behind in Africa.

Which is not to say I'm unhappy here by any means or overly eager to go home- not the case at all.

It's just...I saw Andy become part of my family, and it's hard to let that go.
Ok, he's my older brother; he's technically been part of my family longer than I have. But I mean part of my African family, if I must make the distinction. He played Ludo with Rose and Victora (which takes a truly courageous soul, let me tell you. Those ladies are CUTTHROAT.) and had long conversations with Worfa. He learned most of the names of the 500 little Meerkats and won Donet and Christian's love by playing bottlecap soccer and cards with them. He took bucket baths, helped water our crops, complimented Victoria's cooking, learned how to kill my roommates the crazy fast spiders, pounded fufu and washed his clothes by hand. He was one of us.

Because he couldn't see Worfa and Victoria this morning, Andy sat down with them last night when we were all in the living room to thank them and say goodbye. Believe it or not, watching their interaction was one of the most powerful experiences I've had in Ghana. This might sound silly but I felt like I was watching the two halves of my life come together. The two halves of myself, really. I watched Andy struggle for the words to adequately express his gratitude and feelings for my host parents- something I've done myself many times. (He did a very admirable job at finding those words, by the way.) And I watched Worfa and Victoria humbly accept his thanks and return it a hundredfold as they sent their love and greetings to my parents and assured him that they would continue to take good (excellent!) care of me. As Worfa said,
"Send our greetings to your mom and dad. We have never met them, but we love them and thank them for sending us (me). We have made a relationship that will last forever, for the rest of our lives."
I've worried so much about how I'm going to bridge the gap between America and Africa, Michigan life and Aflao life, blood family and Ghana family, Katherine Louise and Nana Adwoa (that's me ~ the Monday-born princess!). Yet in that simple goodbye, I watched the gap be bridged.
And not just in the fact that Worfa and Victoria got a better glimpse of my roots- seeing me bantering and talking with my brother definitely brought out my inner American- and "Brandrews" got to experience my daily life and observe the ways I've changed, the Ghanaian mannerisms I've picked up.

It was more about the fact that those two halves fit together perfectly. Seamlessly.

I don't know how to properly convey the incredible relief that has brought me...

I knew Ghana would change me.
I knew Ghana would change me big time.
I never realized how much Ghana would change me.
I didn't realize until Andy came that those positive changes don't have to have negative effects when I return home.

There a million ways my experience in Africa has changed me, bettered me. But, although I am incredibly grateful for those changes- and actually came to Africa hoping be changed- I was always worried about what would happen when I returned home.
I love change; I respect it and I seek it.
That doesn't make it any less scary though.
What if I didn't get along with my friends anymore? Would there a be a wedge between us after nine months of evolving our separate ways? How would I feel when people were surprised or even upset by the changes they saw in me? I couldn't be sure how or if I'd fit back into my old life anymore.
I've spent almost half my time here obsessing over this.
You can tell me "You need to focus on being in Ghana, don't stress about coming home." "Don't think about it." "Don't waste your time worrying about what's going to happen in (insert number here) months." All of them words of wisdom, and I agree. But let's face it... it's impossible not to think about going home. I do live in the moment. I am present in Africa and focused on taking full advantage of my all too brief time here. That doesn't mean I don't imagine what going home will be like every single day. And I don't regret that fact in itself because I think anticipating my return is part of the whole mental/emotional process I need to go through. That said, I do regret spending so much time viewing that part of the whole process as such a negative thing.

For as many people as I've expressed my concerns to, no one was able to set my mind at ease as completely as Andy. Not that he had any spectacular words of wisdom or some magic solution. No, the comfort came out of the simple fact that my own brother didn't see me as a different person. I wasn't getting strange looks or the dreaded "Who are you??" reactions. Did he see changes in me? Yes, of course. Did it hurt our relationship or cause any conflict? No, of course not.
I realize that my brother and I have had a lifetime of shifting and changing and growing up together, so we're pretty used to adjusting to each other's various metamorphoses. And, since he's at a different point in his life than me and my peers, he's probably changed less himself than my friends will have.

But that's not the point.

The point is that I'd always assumed that because so many of these changes have gone straight to my core, they had altered my core. Well Andy inadvertantly made me realize that none of the changes I recognize in myself- I am more patient, more confident and independent, I have a fuller perspective and even higher ambitions- have changed my original content. All those character traits existed before, Ghana has just helped develop them further.
Of course some of the changes in me might make people do a double-take. I have a tendency to hiss at people when I want their attention and I can't tolerate weather colder than 60 degrees and I always try to snap after I shake someone's hand. I can sleep through anything (this is truly miraculous, I used to wake up if someone sneezed three houses away) and drink half a liter of water in under 30 seconds. But unless my friends are offended by being called "yevus," I don't foresee any of that having any negative effects :)

I am finally able to view my eventual return home as something positive, rather than something to be dreaded.

It will truly break my heart to leave. I didn't know it was possible to love a place as deeply as I love Ghana, and, despite having a million other places I'm dying to go, I sincerely hope I will make many return journeys in the future. But I'm excited to go home at the same time. There are so many people I miss very, very much and a lot of aspects of American life that I look forward to.
Everything in its time, right?

This peace about going home is the greatest gift my brother's visit to Ghana ever could have brought me. Thanks for the new perspective, Brandrews.

Hammertime

Ghana's seasons consist of rainy season, dry season and Harmattan.

All I knew is that Harmattan is when winds from the north carry sand from the Sahara. It lasts about a month and makes the mornings chilly (by Ghanaian standards) and overcast. That much didn't sound too bad to me considering temperatures have been steadily climbing since the rainy season ended around the beginning of November and we routinely have 90 degree weather by mid-morning. But then Worfa told me that sometimes the air is so thick with dust, you can hardly see someone coming in the gate if you're sitting outside the front door. (I wanted to tell him, "Worfa, this is Aflao. It's always so dusty that you can hardly see anything." but I refrained. America's dustbowl ain't got nothin' on Aflao.) I've also heard over and over that the constant rubbing from the sand makes your lips and skin chapped and cracked. I got the impression that Harmattan is basically the Ghanaian Apocalypse, and I've been warily awaiting its arrival.

It snuck in while we were in Egypt.

We got back to Accra and the whole world was foggy. Except unlike fog, which only covers a relatively small area, the gray haze lasted all 185 kilometers from Accra to Aflao.

Andy and I looked at each other and said, "I think it's finally Hammertime."

I expected strong, abrasive winds that would turn everything (even more) brown. Instead it looks like Ghana has fallen into a dream. The sky is a flat, pearly gray and objects near the horizon are shrouded in mist. The ocean in particular looks very strange; several hundred feet off the shore it's as if it simply disappears. The commercial fishing boats that have become such familiar sights to me where they sit anchored off the harbor at Lome have vanished. It's perpetual pre twilight - not the point where it's actually getting noticeably dark, the point right before that where everything starts to look flat and a little strange. If Ghana didn't feel removed from the "real world" before, it certainly does now...

"What's it called again? Hammertime?"
"It's Harmattan."
"For some reason I can never remember that word."

Happy New Year!

Around 8 o'clock on New Year's Eve, the evening of our first full day in Egypt and the day before our tour officially started, the front desk rings up informing Andy and I that we are invited to a complimentary dinner at 10. So we troop downstairs two hours later, still in clothes rumpled from travelling to Alexandria during the day, to check it out...

And wouldn't you know we were greeted by a tuxedoed waiter who checked our name off a list and ushered us into an extravagantly decorated dining room.

Our tour group, Trafalgar, failed to tell us that they had made us reservations at the big New Year's Eve bash the hotel threw. They likewise failed to tell us that it was a formal event and that everyone else was dressed in suits and evening gowns...Did I mention that I had spilled some yogurt on my cardigan at breakfast, forgotten about it and wore it again? New rule: Don't wear breakfast to dinner.

So all the people look so elegant and ritzy and the waiters are at their shmooziest and the room is full of weird shellfish appetizers and fruits and vegetables that are carved into birds and fish and flowers and whanot. And let me tell you, this is exactly the kind of event YOU CAN NOT BRING ME TO. I can barely walk a straight line on a flat surface without falling flat on my face and probably taking half the wait staff out with me. And I cannot for the life of me figure out how to get all the little fancy shmancy finger foods from the platter onto my plate with the big spoons they provide because, for goodness sakes, it's called finger food for a reason, it's not designed to stay on a spoon! But, to my credit, it was NOT me who collapsed the pyramid of oranges... It was just me who stood there dumbly with one hand hovering uselessly instead of actually helping the poor guy catch them. Woops.

So the waiter leads me and Andy to a cozy little table-for-two with our name on it...Well, incidentally Trafalgar's motto is "Rediscover the Romance of Travel" and since as siblings Andy and I have the same last name, people generally assumed we were married. We took one look at this table and both lost it. Between all the gaudy decorations and overdressed guests it was like being at Prom. When I could finally stop laughing long enough to speak, I told Andy, "Well I'm pretty sure no one else is on a date with their brother tonight..."

The night ended up being fantastic. We drank red wine (I'm not a big fan, but I felt very sophisticated) and ate the weird little appetizers (felt more confused than sophisticated) while we watched a belly dancing show. The dancer counted down to midnight in Arabic and everyone went wild. I've never been in a group larger than 5 people for New Year's Eve, so it was fun to be part of the melee.

I'm so excited for all the things 2011 will bring- the remainder of my time in Ghana, my reunion with all my family and friends, my first semester at NMU.

But even without all that to look forward to, I'm pretty sure New Year's Eve in Cairo is something I'd never forget!

Cape Coast And, More Importantly, Karina

The last couple weeks have flown by, yet feel like an eternity. Andy and I arrived home from our two week Cape Coast-Egypt trip Tuesday night. There's no word that accurately describes that warm feeling in the pit of your stomach when you come home after being gone for a while and everyone is so excited to see you. My host parents and I rarely hug, but I got big hugs from both of them as soon as they saw me. The four of us (my brother included) just sort of stood around laughing and smiling at one another goofily for a couple minutes and periodically exclaiming, "I missed you!" I hoped for a good relationship with my host family, but I never expected to bond with them as much as I have. It's been one of the many unexpected blessings of life in Ghana.

First of all, my ankle was indeed healed in time for the trip. It was still swollen when we left on the 27th, but it didn't hurt anymore and the swelling went down by the morning of the 29th. I've made a full recovery and I have Andy threatening to wallop me every time I start scratching my new collection of mosquito bites.

So, Cape Coast is a decently large city several hours west of Accra. It's largely a resort town, full of gaping tourists and volunteers who need to recharge their batteries. Aside from good souvenir shopping and legitimate pizza (HEY-O!), Cape Coast's main attractions are Kakum National Park and Elmina.

Kakum is a huge chunk of gorgeous rainforest which boasts one of the only 4 canopy walks (of that type?? I'm not sure what the exact qualification for that statistic was) in the world. It's a series of 7 wood and rope suspension buildings with tree platforms in between, hanging 40 meters above the forest floor.
In other words, it's AMAZING.

As I crossed the bridges, I forced myself to look around- up, to the sides and even down. I don't have a particular fear of heights, but swaying that high above the tops of the other trees was...let's say, thrilling. The rainforest stretched as far as you could see in every direction. There's something so majestic about the forest. The fluidity of the canopy is broken periodically by giant trees that soar nearly twice as high as the majority of the others. Staring at those king trees made me forget my nervousness. Just think how old they must be! All the things they've seen!
  

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Elmina was as grim as Kakum was peaceful. 

Elmina is the oldest and largest castle in sub-Saharan Africa, devouring slaves 1,000 at a time.
At one point our tour guide ushered the whole group into a fairly large, ventilated cell with a grid of iron bars by way of a door. He shut it behind us and spoke to us through the bars, explaining that this was the cell they threw the soldiers in for a couple hours if they went into town without permission, got drunk and came back to rape the female slaves.

Then he herded us into a second cell, this one cramped and dark. An eerie carved skull and crossbones leered above the thick wooden door. Again the guide closed us inside and spoke to us through a small slit near the bottom of the door. This was the cell the male slaves were put into if they tried to rebel. They were left in there until they succumbed to the heat and lack of water.

And not a hundred yards away from that death cell is the site of the first Catholic church in Africa.

There are some things I will never understand. Not the least of which is how the missionaries could live with themselves knowing that their residence was one floor directly above the slave dungeon.

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Cape Coast was my last hurrah with Karina, who went home on January 8th. Who ever would have guessed that some random yevu I met in front of Ecobank would become one of my closest friends here.

She motivated me to be a better a teacher simply by being a fantastic teacher herself. She encouraged her kids to be confident, coaching them in public speaking and giving class presentations. She encouraged them to be more creative and original (Ghanaian students have this tendency to copy everything, still puzzling that one) by having them design advertisements. As an amateur actress herself, Karina taught her students basic acting techniques and how to develop a storyline so that they could write and perform short dramas on parents' night.
And this is a woman who isn't even studying to become a teacher. Yet she still threw everything she had into giving her students the life and academic skills they so desperately need.

Opinionated, intelligent, hilarious and far more stubborn than me- Karina in a nutshell.

Despite vastly different personalities and life experiences, Karina and I got along famously. I already feel the hole she's left behind since returning to Denmark.

Two new volunteers have already moved in to Aflao - short-termers, just 6 and 8 weeks - so I'm not even the only yevu. Plus I've finally accumulated a group of genuine Ghanaian friends, which takes significantly more effort and discernment than befriending other volunteers. Still, I'm tryng not to miss her and Julia too much.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - Summer 2012, my friends!

Happy Halfway Day

(This should have been posted yesterday, but my internet service crapped out on me. Thank you, Vodafone.)

I got a text from my mom as I was walking out the door today:

Today marks halfway...you left 19 weeks ago today, you come home 19 weeks from today!!
Happy Halfway Day!! xoxo

I stopped dead in my tracks.
Halfway done? Not possible...

When I talked to my dad later I expressed my skepticism but my mom has been - as he put it - "wearing holes in the calendar" counting the days, so I guess it must be true. I don't know how it can be true, but it is.

Time has a strange, dreamlike quality here. It stands still.
I watch the dates change day after day. Occasionally the name of the month I have to write on the blackboard changes. But that doesn't mean anything to me. Maybe it's because the seasons here are not the ones I'm used to using to mark the passage of time. Maybe it's because I simply can't believe that I really, truly did it: I moved to Africa fresh out of high school for a gap year.
What an appropriate name, gap year.
I used to hate that term because I saw it as implying a wasted year. But now it simply seems like a year out of time. Like I will come home in May and it will still be the summer after senior year, I just took a little vacation. I'm starting to understand how Rip Van Winkle must have felt; I'll land in Michigan in May and realize that time stood still for me while it ran for the rest of the world.
In many ways, my stalled perception of time has worked in my favor. I don't feel homesick very often because I don't feel as if I've been gone more than a month. I'm not sad that I'm missing a year of holidays because it doesn't feel like I've missed them. For me it's still August- I'm in my ninth month of summer, baby!
In other ways, I can see how it will likewise cause some problems. It will be hard not to expect everything and everyone to be the same as the way I left them, but whatever my perception almost a whole year will have passed.

Still...halfway done....
Not possible.

If I could actually process that fact, I don't think I'd know how to feel about it.
I mean, there are more days than I like to admit where I wonder just how far Ghana can wear me down before I completely lose it. The girl with a near phobia of lice has had to hand-pick literally dozens upon dozens of them off the puppy she so foolishly bought. Some days, school is spelled "D-R-E-A-D." Ever since Nyamekye died, I've been convinced I will have to experience another child's death. At times I would sell my college fund for some Qdoba and a season of "Gilmore Girls" on DVD.
And then there are the days where I don't think I'll be able to leave. Days like yesterday when Andy and I came home from our two-week trip to Cape Coast/Egypt and my reunion with my host parents gave me that warm, fuzzy feeling all the way down to my toes. Days like the day my student Grace wrote me a scribbled little note telling me that she loved me and wants to be my friend forever. Days like the day I left VARAS and had the amazing revelation that I'm starting to learn how to be an adult, little by little.
To go home, I have to leave home.
I suppose the key is just to accept every phase of my life in its time. Much easier said than done of course.

I'm already only halfway done.
The past four and a half months aren't something I can easily sum up or draw conclusions on; too much joy and pain and frustration and wonder for me to define as either black or white or even a shade of gray.
And I can guarantee the next four and a half months will be the same.
So bring it on, Ghana!

Halfway done...
Not possible.

An African Education

Hey, its me. Just not the me you expected.
After a month of being here in Africa, Katherine decided I should make a contribution to the ol' blog, so here I am.

Has it really been a month already? It is hard to believe as I am both sad to go and excited to get home. Certainly my time here has been well spent, of that I am certain. It has been a wonderful blend of copious travelling and an authentic home life. I have really gotten a taste and a feel of what West Africa and Arab Africa are like.

One of the more defining elements of my experience here is the growth I see in my sister. It is wonderful to see how confident and independent she is and how much she has matured since the last time I saw her in August. She did after all travel four hours cross country by herself just to pick me from the airport on my first day here. It has been especially neat watching her converse in Ewe; far more than I expected.

Of course she has taken much pleasure in the fact that she is the one with the knowledge to share and I have tried to be a eager student. Largely because of her efforts I can now draw water from the well in the dark, launder my clothes by hand, catch a tro-tro anywhere I need to go and even feed a Mona monkey while still retaining all of my digits.

Our recent trip to Egypt was hands down the neatest travelling we have done. Being in Ghana for nearly three weeks prior to going provided a unique comparative experience that coming straight from America would not have afforded. Where our travel companions saw pollution and maniacal drivers, Katherine and I took deep breaths and snoozed in the car. I am sure Katherine will elaborate more but the simple and seemingly universal fact that Egyptians do not consider themselves as Africans is an intriguing dichotomy with implications I am sure I do not even begin to understand.

The Egyptian sights were second to none and while I feel my pictures can't tell the whole story, I know my words cannot. All I can say is that if you ever get the chance to come, do it! The Great Pyramid at Giza, the Valley of the Kings and the Karnak Temple are all must see destinations.

It is quite difficult to sum up my time here in Africa and the blinking cursor is not helping to extract any more valuable tidbits. For myself I mostly just hope that I can keep things together in my head for a long time to come. I firmly believe that you really are the sum of your experiences (and how you process them) and thus in no small way, Africa is a part of me and for that I very thankful.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Brother Andrews (Brandrews) signing out.

New Address

I have had numerous requests for my new address and here it is, folks!
Thanks to everyone who has worked so hard to stay in touch with me across 5 hours and 6,000 miles.


Katherine Niemann c/o Livingstone Gomashie
PO Box 470, Viepe-Aflao
Volta Region
Ghana, West Africa