Village of Living

So, once again, it’s been incredibly too long since my last post. However, in my defense, I actually wrote a blog a few weeks ago, saved it to my pen drive, and then it gotten eaten by a virus, and I just haven’t had a chance to write another one. Anyway, things are going well here. I think I’ve reached a new level of integration—I’ve grown tired of all of my "earthy/ look like I just walked out of a Landsend catalog" attire that makes me feel like I’m camping in Ghana, rather than living. Not to knock those who buy their normal attire from Landsend or the like. Many people truly pull that look off and enjoy it. Unfortunately, I am not really one of those people, and I never really have been. I don’t feel comfortable in clothing that absorbs my perspiration while simultaneously shielding from the sun’s rays with built-in SPF 45. And skirts that can be zipped into pants and capris and, finally, cute little totes with built-in carabineers, so that, when it comes time for packing, you can attach that small ambiguous tote to your backpack loop without anyone ever suspecting you’re carrying 1/3 of your wardrobe around---yeah, who ever invented those—ingenious, but also not my style. So, I’ve initiated a gradual parting-of-ways from many of my old clothes and started purchasing some new items that suit my person and my soul, rather than making me feel like a boy scout. I know that probably just sounds like a somewhat interesting excuse to go shopping for new clothes, and, of course, in many ways (or all ways), it is. But, the other day when I walked down a path in my village wearing real-live denim and a simple tank with a few strands of beads around my waist a friend of mine called out, "Pigri, now you look like a Ghanaian!" I was wearing an outfit, unbeknownst to him, that I would wear on any normal day in the States (as opposed to my litany of boy scout uniforms), but since he had never seen me dressed like that before, he assumed I picked up the look in Ghana. I feel that validates my soul-filled, integration-inducing justification for my new wardrobe. I’m continuing to live more and more normally and comfortably, and I feel like my friends and co-workers are really starting to get to know who I am, particularly my love for mismatched clothes and layers in this case.
In my last blog, that unfortunately never got to see the light of cyberspace, I talked about a book called The Village of Waiting by George Packer. I recommended it to anyone who was looking for an interesting read, and I "required" it for anyone that is coming to visit me here. It’s about a Peace Corps volunteer who served in Togo during the 80s. If you plan to read the book, you may want to skip the next couple of paragraphs so that I don’t spoil it for you. So, if that’s you……STOP!
So, in the book, Packer describes a lot of the same physical and emotional discomforts that I’ve been experiencing since moving to Ghana. It’s amazing how similar some of his descriptions of his daily life are to my current life. His site in Togo is right on the Ghanaian border and, actually, fairly close to wear I live. He has a really great way of describing some of the more blatant cultural disconnects, as well as things like the cuisine and public transportation (to name a few items). All and all, he’s a pretty great, descriptive writer, and I think he captures a lot of the initial, superficial struggles that PCV is this region face.
However, more importantly, I think he targets a lot of the emotional/psychological struggles that we face, as well. Now, Packer’s assignment is fairly different from mine. He was an English language teacher in French-speaking Africa, and, from what I can tell, his site was slightly more urban than mine. So we part ways a bit there, but he still addresses something that I address at least once a day and up to 40 times a day, which is my justification for being here (here meaning Ghana, meaning Peace Corps, meaning life). Some days it’s an up-hill battle, trying to figuring out if I’m doing the right thing here—if my presence is doing more help or more harm. Some days I just know I’m in the right place. But my perspective on globalization, poverty, inter-cultural relations, international diplomacy, the global economy, and all those other big ticket items has drastically shifted since coming here and continues to shift with each passing day. There are so many issues and/or problems with so many ambiguous or non-existent solutions with which grappling can be incredibly overwhelming. And, often times, you’re doing a lot of the grappling alone—the only one in your village coming at the issues with your perspective that is arguably broadened by your access to international news and cultures, as well as education, but is also arguably irrelevant and out-of-touch with everyone around you. It’s often hard to say whether or not my irrelevance makes me useless here or not, and sometimes my occasional complete and utter loneliness (despite being surrounded by a community of 1400 people) makes me feel useless and/or non-existent even more than my cultural irrelevance. Packer says in his book that each day he woke up in Togo, he never felt he was where he was supposed to be. He lasted a little over a year and a half before he ETed, leaving for a brief vacation and never coming back. I remember reading the book, feeling the lessening pages in my right hand, wondering how he would ever wrap it up that quickly. Then, within a turn of a page, it was all over. He simply called PanAm and went home the next day. I was really irritated—really, truly. And, I couldn’t figure out why, at first. But I realized, what was most aggravating was not that Packer gave up on Peace Corps goals or his development work, pronouncing them moot. But that he just picked up and left his friends without a word. He never said goodbye. He never talked to them again. Who does that?! I felt like he ruined everything. Like, he came in to "help the people," and then left when he felt he’d "done his job." It just doesn’t work that way, I don’t feel. Although, I guess I can’t critique too much, because I don’t know exactly how to explain how it does work. I just feel you really need to know the people in your community you’re trying to work in, and if you really know them, you wouldn’t be able to pick up and go just like that. The "cultural-gap" is just not that un-traversable.
I think, more than anything, what keeps me here are my friends. Even now I’m horrified at the thought of leaving my friends in a year and half—not being able to see them complete school, get married, or watch their children grow up. Not being able to just call them up and see how they’re doing, which I can’t really do now, but is my usual method of maintaining long-distance friendships. Living here is becoming more and more like living anywhere else, especially now that I’m doing it in denim ; ).
RE-START! For those who left us briefly…
As for work, it’s going well. I working on all the projects I’ve talked about before and a few new ones. I’ll keep you posted with any interesting developments. Sewing’s going well. I’ve made some cute clothes and bags, of late. I think my messenger bag made out of flour sacs is currently my hottest item. My ground nut farm is growing strong (which cannot be said of my vegetable garden that’s turned into two-planted okra garden), and I’m currently brainstorming a list of things to do with the exorbitant amount of ground nuts that I’ll have in a few months. All suggestions are welcome! Oh! And, I’m currently training a new group of PCVs, which has been a blast. It’s been really fun meeting new people and coming back to the training site, hanging out with my home-stay family.
It’s also really nice to not be the "new person" anymore—to finally feel like maybe I know something about something—just maybe. : ) It’s a pretty cool sense of accomplishment.
Anyway, I should get going, but I’d like to say one last thing in honor of the recently passed Father’s Day. One of the most important things I’ve gained from this experience, and I know this sounds trite, but I have no shame, is a whole new kind of appreciation for my family and my home—fathers, especially included. So, happy fathers day to the fathers, especially mine. I love you, Dad.