Chal-lettes

Back in December when I was at the Ghanaian consulate in Toronto, a very helpful staff member sat me down for a chat about Ghana. She noticed that I was taking up a teaching job at the University of Ghana, her alma mater and was enthusiastic about informing me of the wonders of the place. She had many cherished memories of the campus and was sure I would love my new job. She described the campus and school life in detail, and, when I told her my new job came with housing on campus, she was exceedingly pleased. The campus offered a variety of cute chal-lettes for faculty. In Canada, we would most likely call such housing bungalows, or by the more traditional French pronunciation, chalets.

Anna-Marie and I hoped that a) we would be housed in a cute chal-lette and b) that everyone would pronounce the word thus. To my disappointment when I arrived, no one used this pronunciation and no one suggested that I would be living in one. In fact, I couldn't even locate cute little faculty housing.

All this has changed this week.

First, the head of human resources informed me it was time to move me from the (reasonably) opulent quarters at the University Guest Centre, where, while I have no kitchen, I do have a small fridge and air conditioning. I'm prepared to trade away my AC for a kitchen but will certainly have to purchase a fan. For Christmas Anna-Marie gave me a light and fan combination that plugs into the USB port of my laptop. The fan does kick out a good breeze but with 2 inch blades you do have to be close. I don't think it will be practical to carry my laptop around in front of me as I move through my new rooms.

Second, people around me started saying chal-lette. On three occasions this week I have heard the word spoken, once each by a taxi driver, a student, and a department head. This, I take it, means it will be permissible for me to use the word and that people will understand me.

Third, I am to be moved to one of the campus chal-lettes. My accommodations will be shared with another new faculty member (in History). We will each have our own room and bathroom and will share the kitchen and living room. Photos will follow once the move is made. A quick conversation with the head of HR and I headed off to see the campus chal-lettes.

I present the University of Ghana campus chalets: 

In truth, they range from quite large and well settled to more modest and transient in appearance. My chalet will be at the latter end of the scale. This last photo also contains two real looking dogs (unlike the wild dingoes that dot the campus), that are obviously pets. (Look for the little tiny black dot one third in from the left, mid-front lawn.)

Ghana is red

Cause I'm forgetful

If you've read the post on TV Guide, go back to it 'cause I forgot to load a picture.

The gentle scraping as birds alight

This will be hard to do without a sound recording.

Imagine a couple of squirrels trapped in a metal garbage can with the lid on. Or imagine a raccoon in the same position. No, best to imagine a couple of squirrels and a raccoon sealed in a metal garbage can. Now, consider the volume of that sound of frantic scraping.

There are many wonderful birds on campus, many of which I cannot yet identify. I am familiar with the small white egrets and have now read about the pied crows that frequent the Guest Centre grounds. These are an attractive and intelligent bird, but also a sort of cross between Southern Ontario's starlings and crows: noisy and somewhat aggressive scavengers. My understanding is they are more closely related to ravens than crows. They certainly look the part, with a more prominent brow and greater size than a crow has. They also have these stylish looking bibs.

One of the pied crows insists on hanging out on the roof over my room. Since this is a country without frost there is no need for insulation. The ceiling is just a thin layer of pressed board beneath an attic open to the pitched roof above. The metal, pitched roof. The slippery, metal, pitched roof.

The first time I heard the sound I thought some animal had got caught in a well or water container outside my window. Then I realized it was coming from above not below. Now, each day I hear the talons of the pied crow as it scrambles over my roof trying to maintain a foothold. As near as I can tell, it just likes the view.

 

 

En route to school

The first email I got on my new U of G account was from a faculty member who had snapped a picture of a dumpster on campus. He, and those who replied, were angry, disgusted, and disappointed to find the dumpster virtually empty, but surrounded with a field of garbage. Apparently, people had the energy to drag their garbage to the dumpster but not to toss it skyward the four feet needed to clear its low end. He included a photo of the dumpster and the small mountain of waste beside it.

The email had been sent a few days before I got my account and work had already been done moving the trash into the bin. Unaware of his email I had walked by the dumpster several times and seen workers loading the trash.

A problem identified and a solution found.

On Sunday as I walked to my office, I first smelled, then saw the dumpster. I'd walked by it a dozen times already and hardly noted it, but suddenly I connected the offending dumpster of the email with my own en route dumpster.

Here, then, my dumpster, egrets, pied crows, and vultures. Apparently, it is not enough to fill the dumpster.

Don't forget you can click on images to enlarge them

TV Guide

My daily malaria pill involves a ritual. Figuring out how to take it without spending the rest of the day (and sometimes night) experiencing stomach cramps has involved, among other things, a trip to a local doctor for advice. Now, mid-day I sit down with a groundnut sandwich (peanut butter), my pill, and a huge glass of water (between a half and a full litre). I take them in that order and then wait. The waiting is just in case my new regimen fails to work, but my confidence is growing with each day. As I bide my time I watch TV.

After a week of watching television I have this to report.

I get 8 channels. One of them is devoted 24 hours a day to football, the lads back home will be glad to hear. It looks like every British game is aired, and then if no one in the UK is playing, European games. This is also the channel with the best reception.

Two channels are devoted entirely to religion, more specifically, Christianity, more specifically to my untrained eye, charismatic evangelical proselytizing which frequently seems to involve glossolalia (speaking in tongues) and collapsing. (What I thought was singing that I hear from my room at the guest house in the evenings is in fact a group of locals gathered together to speak in tongues.)

Here are some pictures of them playing we all fall down.

Oddly, in the evening, one of these channels also plays non-stop music videos, much of this Christian rock, and some of this excellent, interspersed with that form of rap that blends sexism with soft porn. Another channel is devoted entirely to music videos. The prerequisite, unfortunately, for this channel is that you sing through Auto-Tune with the speed parameter set for zero (the so-called Cher effect).

Two and a half channels are devoted to historical African (my general term) stories, mostly melodramas and mostly cheesy.

However, this morning there was broadcast a beautiful show entirely sung (with English subtitles) of the most tranquil and lilting harmonies (reminding me of the Mali singer, Rokia Traore).

The remaining two and a half channels run the gamut of more familiar programming from news, talk shows, dubbed Brazilian soap operas (very reminiscent of times in Cuba), and even game shows. The news is sprinkled with reporters saying things like "God permitting, the construction will be completed by..." and "The price of petrol, if we are blessed, will not rise beyond..."

Twice I've watched the local version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, re-titled to reflect the top prize of Ghanaian Cedi 50,000 (about Canadian $33,000, but probably with greater buying power here). On one round, I couldn't answer the very first question (which is not a national park of Ghana) and on another was stuck on the fifth question (which is not a traditional dance of Ghana). So Cedi 30,000 is as unattainable for me as $1,000,000.

Another interesting cultural aspect is that there are still Christmas ads on TV, and Christmas music still playing in the Accra City Mall.

My favourite ad on TV is for a movie entertainment program announcing "Movie facts, movie interviews, movie personalities, movie tit bits". I haven't caught the show yet but I presume that last is selected clips from certain films.
 

My first fu fu

On Saturday, Helen arranged for her regular cabbie to drive George and me into Accra for a day of sight seeing. This involved a peek at the ocean, and a stop at the Kwame Nkrumah memorial and museum. He is the father of Ghanaian independence.

We then stopped at a tourist market, a vast, warren of dark kiosks, filled with kente cloth, batik, carvings, paintings, and musical instruments. There is lots of room for bartering, and I will return once I know what my finances look like. Much of the goods is made for the tourists and not impressive, but a few shops had quite interesting finds.

No photos as I really was not buying. Knowledge of this, plus my two helpful companions warding off the more aggressive vendors, made the whole experience fun. People called me “papa” (I’m assured a term of respect, though these sorts of things just make me feel old) until my nationality got around, and then it was “hey Canada”. My beard, though, was a huge success.

Much has been made since I announced my travel plans of how friendly Ghanaians are. Even the most aggressive and disappointed vendors were jovial and genuinely friendly, even helpful, as when we had to negotiate our car out from between a truck off-loading bottles of Guinness Malta to a van, both parked across our tail.

Malta is a local drink made by Guinness, and as best as I can describe it, tasting like a sweetened wort, the pre-fermented stage of beer, as it is made from hops, barley malt, and lots of sugar. While George and I drank a bottle each of this, mid-morning, our driver quickly polished off a vodka cooler. When I pointed out he was the one doing the driving, he pointed out the cooler only had 5.5% alcohol. Nonetheless, it didn’t seem to alter his ability to navigate the craziness of Accra streets.

We ended our tour at the Bush Kanteen, in East Legon, where they serve up huge portions of Ghanaian food: kenkey, red red, waakye, forowe, and kelewele. I specified we should go somewhere for local food, as long as it didn’t kill me. The day before, George had introduced me to some local dishes at the guest house restaurant. Yesteday was red red, tilapia fish and bean stew with fried plantain. Today, I opted for the forowe, a spicy tomato based stew, with a whole fish in it. I’m not sure the kind of fish, but I know it wasn’t tilapia, because the stew with it only came with the head. So instead I got the body of some other fish.

Regardless, the stew was fabulous. My companions, taking advantage of a free meal (the department was paying) ordered the stew with goat and a side of fish. In fairness, this cost pennies more than what I ordered. The stews come with fu fu, to be fashioned into a utensil for grabbing morsels out of the bowl with the right hand.

This picture shows all the fu fu I could eat.

Fu fu is cassava, yams and sometimes other ingredients like plantain and maize, pounded until, as one source says, “the desired consistency in reached”. On the one hand, it’s quite innocuous, a reasonably flavourless, gelatinous lump about as unflavourful as non-Canadians might find cream of wheat. On the other hand, I found its consistency quite undesirable, its gelatinous quality becoming increasingly hard to swallow. In its defense, the portions where huge, I am not used to eating fish (and think I just ate a month's supply), and could not have eaten all I was served no matter how delicious I found it. We finished lunch about 2:30 and I skipped dinner altogether. My friends, who had more to begin with, cleaned their bowls and probably had dinner later.

How to tell if your professor is in his or her office

Wisely, I take the pad lock into my office with me.

My first home

Pillow cases, sheets, and towels all bear this stamp

For the first few weeks I am staying at the University Guest Centre. My room is quite spacious, on the second floor, which everyone considers a plus — safer? free from marauding animals? mosquitoes can’t fly this high? no heel walkers above me? I’ve yet to find out why this is considered better, but it is a great room with both a fan and air conditioning. The first morning I thought I heard a distant drum circle. The second morning I figured out it was the neighbour’s air conditioning unit. But how great is that, a country where even the air conditioners have fabulous sense of rhythm.

I opened the curtains to take these photos and think is was the first time they’ve been opened since being installed. With them shut, when I return at the end of the day, the room is remarkably comfortable. A short blast of the air conditioning and I am perfectly happy. I have, however, kept the fan going through the night.

The room is square, with one corner taken up by the washroom and closet. As you can see, the remaining has windows on two sides. To my surprise, the bathroom has hot water; low pressure, but an abundance of hot water. And it comes from somewhere else. I am more used to the Cuban arrangement where a heater is attached to the shower head, usually with a few barely insulated wires wrapped around the pipe and wandering across the shower. In Cuba, I learned to first step out of the shower and dry my feet before reaching back in to turn off the water. I recall one time getting a shock when my shaved dome accidentally touched the shower head.

On the downside, there is a fridge but no cooking facilities and no electric outlet within reach of the desk, for my computer. But a minute away is the guest centre restaurant with good food (Ghanaian and otherwise), cold beer, and long hours. On each table is a salt and chili pepper shaker. Yum. Breakfast is free and Anna-Marie sent me packing with 12 satchels of Starbuck instant coffee, which beats the locale instant coffee. I’m afraid I’m in tea country.

On route to my office is this 12 foot ant hill

As in other warm countries there doesn’t seem to be any particular commitment to serving drinks hot. A steel pitcher of hot water is put out on a side table with sugar, real milk, and a can of instant coffee, where it is left to cool until empty. This morning I got wise and took over my thermal travel mug. The days will now start with one tea cup of caffeinated instant coffee and a big mug of flavourful coffee, to go.

My office is twice the size supplied by WLU, has a window and air conditioning, and came with a stocked beer fridge. On the latter, unfortunately it has been mistakenly filled with bottled water, an error I will take up with the departmental staff on Monday.

On arriving in the department I was given a ring of six keys. Two open my office, one opens the gate to the second floor, where the faculty unisex washroom is (another key); actually, a male and a female stall with shared sink. The sixth key is a gold skeleton key that no one seems to recognize. 

Blessedly, the internet connection seems to be quite fast.

The display case is where final grades are posted

My office light switch

Hop, skip, and jump

Hop: The flight over the pond was reasonably uneventful, except for the airline serving a vegetarian option that is more of a guessing game than a meal. I knew that once I was through the security gates most of my pre-flight anxiety would be left behind. This anxiety seems to be centred on actually missing a flight, not, as in this case, leaving behind my love, my friends, my dog, and everything comfortable and familiar about my life. Not especially rational, but once through the security gates there is an inevitability of the coming hours; no decisions to make, so no chance of making wrong ones.

The flight times are odd and I end up just doing away with one night’s sleep. Despite being bumped up to a wider seat it is still impossible (for me) to actually sleep. I meditate  — on the first class beds in the cabin in front of me. Leaving at 6:30pm means arriving in London at 1:30 Waterloo time (6:30 London time). My friend and mentor, Patrick, has provided me with impeccable instructions on how to get to the flat in Kensington that he is house sitting. I discover later his partner, Penelope, is the real architect of the instructions. Still, this involved getting through customs (which was about as casual as entering Canada from our southern neighbour — “any smokes, booze, or guns, today”), negotiating the huge Heathrow Terminal 5 (you need to take an internal subway just to get to the building that allows you to exit to the world), taking the underground, and finally a taxi; all at about 2:30 my time.

The Italianate piazza by St Paul's Cathedral

Skip: I arrived at their door about 9:30 local time, which is 4:30 internal clock time. Penelope fortifies me with two cups of strong, caffeinated tea and we set off to explore London. Penelope is English by birth, lived in London as a child, and is proud both of the city and her skills as a tour director. Thoughtfully, she has planned a series of routes of ever expanding circles from which we may return at any time. But surprisingly I keep going until 11:00pm, after being up for 30 hours. The next day I awoke at 7:00am, and felt like it was 7:00am. That evening Patrick and I stayed up till 1:00am talking.

The Airstream cafe

In all, over the three days I am in London I skip about Kensington, Holland and Hyde Parks, Chinatown, Soho, Covent Garden, Piccadilly, and the South Bank. Sightings included the Parliament Buildings and Big Ben, St Paul’s Cathedral, a remarkable number of art deco buildings, and an airstream trailer. Patrick and I spent hours at the Tate Modern and the British Museum. Just prior to leaving Canada, Ontario Bruce (a distinct entity from Manitoba Bruce) sent me a link for the BBC A History of the World in 100 Objects. The objects are all found in the British Museum and with guide in hand I have now seen 21 of the objects (and the empty display case for another — removed for some reason).

Oldest know carving of love making, 10,000 BCE

Jump: The flight south to Accra is the same length as crossing the Atlantic, but Ghana is in the same time zone. This is a good thing, as Helen Lauer, the head of the Philosophy Department, met me at the airport and kept me running until yesterday afternoon, meeting all manner of administrators. I’m grateful for her meeting me, though, as I arrived after dark and it would have been a very disoriented journey to my accommodations. That, and I had no idea where I was to be staying. It is difficult, even with Google Maps and Earth, to judge real differences and the campus of the University of Ghana is huge. My room is a 15-20 minute walk from the main gate and my office the same distance again from my room. People even take cabs around the campus. Once classes start is will be a sweaty hike from my office to the classrooms. I appreciate the desire to arrive dry.

As I write it is just shy of a week since I left Canada. A world of experience and a quarter world of distance separate me.