holes to heaven...

So this past week has had its ups and downs. I'll start with the ups, for optimistism's sake.
The work I did at Anidaso Fie was awesome. I got to work with around 15-20 women everyday, sometimes the same, and sometimes different depending on whether or not they chose to come to classe that day.
I was asked to help with the art classes they are now involved in to help them with batiking later on. The first couple days we worked on sketching and took nature walks to find inspiration. Then I taught them about basic drawing techniques, like breaking down larger shapes into smaller ones.
Let me just say, its very difficult to remember what its like to be 5, and in your first art class. Some of these women are older than I am, but when I ask them to draw two identical circles, they can't make replicas of the same shape. Or even simple things like drawing within the lines. They don't understand how to process visual information like that.
When we started painting it was so fun to help them out, and they were all so proud of what they were doing. The teacher just sat in the corner, randomly telling them instructions. She rarely taught them, just gave them things to do. To be able to guide these women, even in something as small as drawing was immensely fufilling. And just to realize how much your attention to their work means to them, made me feel purposeful.
The other couple days we focused on basic math, english and health issues. I was assigned the "highest form", the ladies that had the most education. They clearly were the ones who could understand my English the best, therefore made it alot easier to teach them. The "highest form" of these women 15-25 was the first grade.
We did math exercises consisting of addition, subtraction and basic multiplication. I started to teach them to divide, but we only got as far as drawing out a number of shapes and then dividing them with lines, and seeing the result.
This was also really difficult to remember how I was taught this kind of math. I was questioning whether I should have taught them double digit multiplication, or just moved straight onto division.
Some of these women are 25, and they are just learning how divide.
We then read a book "Willie isn't the Hugging Kind." A book written clearly for 5 year olds. We would read 10 pages at a time, and then I would write around 6-8 content questions on the board, like "Why did Willie's sister call him the not-hugging-kind?" Then they would take almost 30 minutes searching through the book for answers.
I am beginning to think that it would be of great value to publish a book for programs like this, which exist in most third world countries. A book that would be able to provide a low level of literacy, but with a content that would appeal much more to adults. As I spoke to the ladies about the book, they did the work I asked of them, but didn't appreciate that they were actually reading. Which is huge. I think it made them feel incompetent, and I don't blame them.
Its so interesting, and yet so scary, how the human mind needs so much attention to be able to function at its highest level. Even if these women went to school everyday, 8 hours a day, for the next 5 years they probably wouldn't know as much as I know as a 19 year old American.
I will write more about the project when I can really sit down and think about it. I haven't been able to because...
Ghana immigration is the most rude and difficult sum of human beings I have ever encountered in my life. Although the details of my situation with them are many and boring enough that I'll spare the dedicated readers of my blog the time, I will say I have never been treated with as much disrespect or carelessness to my situation in my entire life.
Its very frightening to realize you are in a country where you cannot trust the government, and if they want to, they can easily screw any plans of you leaving the country. Not to mention the fact that the organization which I paid to help me with these sort of things, if not just take care of them themselves is not being of much help...I'll also save the details of that for a later post.

Gotta run, more later.

Officials work while friendly
Once we drown them with our sweet talk
And we bribe them with our cigarettes and booze

Moving on...

Let me start out by saying after 4 weeks of literally constant illness, I am recovered (hopefully.)
So Lisette and I left the clinic for good on Saturday. It was very sad, and I didn't realize how attached I was to everything there. Saying goodbye to Samuel, the Captain and Mary was really tough. Especially because here it isn't appropriate to really show emotion, so I had to"keep my cool" which we all know isn't my best trait.
Anyway, now I am in Accra, and I'm going to work at a practical training college for street girls, or street women considering the ages range from around 15-25. These are women who were either prostitutes, orphans etc...and at this school they learn things like hairdressing, sewing and cloth construction, cooking/baking, basic math, science and english so that hopefully, after they are finished, they can make money, take care of themselves, and lead a healthy lifestyle. They also provide access to birth control (whether it be oral, condoms etc...), HIV/AIDS education, and general counseling to the women. I am going to help with the batiking/tye-dye as well as cooking and basic instruction. I am also going to sit in on the birth control and HIV/AIDS discussions. I start work in a little under an hour, and I am really excited!
On a completely different note...
Lately the "being a volunteer" thing has been slightly eating away at my soul. Yesterday I was feeling slightly miserable and alone so I went to an upper class restaurant just to relax and get a good meal. So I spent around $10 on an enormous meal that left me probably 2 lbs heavier, but also happier. However, as soon as I left the restaurant I only had to walk 30 seconds to see extreme poverty. Then I just felt like throwing up.
Let me explain that, to most of you at home, I was surrounded by poverty where I was living, but in reality the town in which I lived had very little poverty. At first, you think the people walking around without shoes and torn clothes who are selling things in a little wooden shack by the side of the road is extreme poverty. In reality, those people are leading a relatively good life by African standards. They eat well and have the ability to work and earn a living, not a very large one, but nevertheless enough to sustain them and their families.
Extreme poverty, as I see it, is the people who have no home or family. Its those who have no hope of finding work. I almost feel better when people are begging for money, because in the worst cases, they have lost so much hope they are just waiting to die.
So what I'm getting at is the guilt that comes naturally to any human being that can afford to travel here for their own purposes. I came here as a volunteer in hopes of helping people etc...and I was under the impression that the feelings of guilt wouldn't be are strong, considering I was dedicating a half year of my life to improving the state of this country.
I guess whats important to remember that I could have given money to help relieve poverty, gone to NYU and started my life, but what I did, come here with the intention of helping in which ever way I could, was a much greater sacrifice.
I should get a move on so I'm not late for work.

the malaria got me

Okay, negative on the mono.
Positive on the tonsilitis.
As well as the malaria.
Well that was a FUN three weeks. I have never wanted to come home since I've been here, but I was a heartbeat away from going to Accra this past weekend and just doing it. Glad I wasn't rash. Its nice to have a whole 4 more weeks to spend with the volunteers and the staff and just with Ghana.
New Years was alright here. We were at a really nice "deserted" beach (with a resort and bungalows.) New Years isn't exactly my favorite day of the year, so its, I guess, a little better that it didn't really feel like New Years, and just a night where we stayed up late. Oh also the meds for the tonsilitis made me sick even though I had a minimal amount to drink. Hoorah. Gotta love the undeserved hang over.
So then we came back to Kumasi. There was a really nice Holiday party at the clinic, and all the staff put their handprints on the NOW FINISHED malnutrition unit. Its too bad I woke up at 3 am the next morning with the malaria.
After my 4th round of throwing up I got a malaria test. Then they tried to give me an IV, but failed miserably and caused unnecessary pain in my veins. They finally gave me a shot to stop the vomiting so I could eat. I only threw up a litle more after that.
So I slept the rest of the weekend, and finished the entire Grapes of Wrath which is entirely too depressing to read when you're not feeling tip-top as it is...
Everyone came in fromKumasi last night and had dinner with us, which was good. When I start to forget why I love it here, they can easily remind me. Today Helene, Eli and I are shopping for last minute gifts and toher things we should have bought months ago.
I promise the next post will actually say something.