Disclaimer: “The content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. Government, the Peace Corps, or the Ghanaian Government.”

It was about two years ago that I was feeling fairly confident that I would soon be on my way to Ghana, although every prospective volunteer is cautioned that nothing is certain until you have boarded the plane to your destination. That’s because you have to pass a legal clearance, a medical clearance, and there’s a laundry list of miscellaneous tasks that must be completed (e.g., get a Peace Corps passport and apply for a visa to enter Ghana; renew my personal passport, since it would be expiring during my PC service; write an Aspiration Statement about what I hope to accomplish during my time in Peace Corps).

One of the more curious things on that to-do list was a wide-ranging survey about my upbringing, where I had lived, how big of a town did I expect to be living in, my attitude towards living and working under arduous conditions, and various likes and dislikes. Some parts of it read like a corporate employee satisfaction survey (with which I am all too familiar). One particular question made me stop and think:

“On a scale of 1 to 5, with 1 meaning Strongly Disagree and 5 meaning Strongly Agree, how would you respond to this statement: ‘I enjoy being around small children.’”

At that point in my life my own children were decades beyond the “small children” phase and, to the best of my knowledge, they don’t have any children of their own. My employment in a corporate laboratory (where safety is always a concern) precluded any work-related interaction with small children there, and to be honest, I hadn’t sought out opportunities to be around small children. So when I read that question, I was a bit stumped. I took the question to women friends at work who had young kids [1], and I was amused by their responses. When I posed the question to a friend who was sitting at her desk, she put her head down in her hands and, with a bit of exasperation in her voice, said, “I enjoy be around my small children.” Another mother of three boys was quick to say, “Oh, I know how I would answer that question!” The tone of her voice led me to think she was heavily leaning to the “1” end of the scale. I didn’t pry. There were others who were clearly leaning towards the “5” end of scale, so overall there was a balance in the responses. I came away with the feeling that I wouldn’t necessarily be labeled an ogre if I didn’t Strongly Agree with the statement.

It was on a Sunday afternoon in March when, feeling optimistic about my prospects of getting all of my Peace Corps clearances, I went to the local REI store to shop for some shoes that would be suitable for Ghana. The store was busy, so I had time to kill, sitting on a bench and waiting for a clerk to get the shoes I wanted to try on. At this point, a cute, precocious girl of about 4 or 5 years old came right up to me and said, “Do you know what?” “What?,” I replied. “It’s almost spring!” With that opening, I asked her what she planned to do when spring arrived. “Plant a garden!” What will you plant in your garden? She had a long list of vegetables that she intended to plant, so we proceeded to have a delightful little chat about her garden and the fruits and vegetables she anticipated harvesting from it. Our conversation was cut short when the REI clerk arrived with shoes for me to try on and the little girl’s dad, who had been eavesdropping on our chat gave a smile and called his daughter.

I went home that day with a new pair of shoes and the thought that spending time with small children might involve some unexpected pleasure. So, in spite of my years of statistical training, later that afternoon when I resumed work on the Peace Corps survey, I let that single data point sway me towards a “4” response on the question, “I enjoy being around small children.” As it turns out, maybe that was a pretty accurate assessment.

[1] At the risk of coming across as sexist, in my experience mothers of young children are relatively easy to identify because they are effusive in their comments and stories about their children; guys, not so much. So it’s easier to identify mothers than fathers.

The Banana Dance Party

Many evenings, once the equatorial sun begins to drop behind a tree at the edge of the yard, my front porch becomes habitable again, and some of the neighborhood kids will come by to see what Teacher Kwadwo (TK, i.e., me) is up to.  Or, more to the point, they come to see what sort of snack they can get from me.  Initially that was a wrenching experience, because I’d been told that food insecurity is a real issue here in Ghana.  My fellow teachers know many of the families of the students in our school and they have told me that some JHS students (those age 11 and older) regularly come to school hungry and lack the money to buy food during the day.  I’ve given some students money so that they could have something to eat.  But at the same time, my colleagues assure me that the young children, (i.e., those in primary school), do not lack for food because the parents (or grandparents) make sure they are fed. They either pack a lunch for the children each day or give them money to buy food at the canteen. I know that many of the children at my school indulge in sweet snacks during the day.  It makes me feel better knowing that the neighborhood kids (almost all of whom are primary school age or younger), are not going hungry – they’re just testing me to see what I might offer.  And these kids aren’t shy about asking for food – they won’t wait for me to offer something.  Often their first words after “Hello” are, “TK, food!”

I try to stock simple snacks that I can dole out as I see fit, but I don’t feel guilty if I don’t have anything for them.  Snacks may consist of a small handful of peanuts, a banana, popcorn, or, on rare occasions, a piece of Jolly Rancher candy (known here as toffee).  I can get big bags of roasted peanuts at my market for about GH¢ 25 (less than $2) or a bunch of 12 bananas for GH¢ 5.  The biggest challenge is keeping these items in stock.

My most regular visitors these days are three girls I’ve come to know fairly well: Mercy (age 11?), Esther (8?), and Diana (age 5?). Mercy speaks and understands English pretty well (much better than some of my JHS students), so she acts as the translator.  All three, but especially the younger two, have lots of energy.  They often come by on Sunday mornings and watch in wonder at the odd way that I wash my laundry.  They would happily do it for me if I would let them.  Perhaps they’re also hoping that I will make banana pancakes again; I think they were pleasantly surprised to find that TK can cook at least one edible food.  (Our tastes differ on Fried Rice, peanut butter and jelly, and a few other delicacies.)

One day in early December the girls arrived as the late afternoon shade reached the porch.  I was feeling relaxed, not only because it was Friday, but the last day of classes for the school term had just concluded.  No more lesson plans to be prepared, no more classes to teach, just exams to administer and report cards to prepare in the following week – pretty easy work, actually.  The girls made the familiar chant, “Food!” and I pushed back, insisting I wanted to hear them say, “Food, please!”, to which they complied.  After we washed hands, I gave them each a banana.  As she was eating her banana, Mercy raised her voice a little and sang / chanted, “I like to eat, eat, eat, apples and bananas”.  Esther joined in, while Diana just looked confused.  A faint spark flickered across a synapse somewhere deep in my brain, prompting me to jump up, grab my Bluetooth speaker and phone, and search YouTube for Raffi’s “Apples and Bananas”.  As soon as I started playing the song, the decibel level on the porch went way up as the girls sang along in full-throated harmony.  Next, I played “If You’re Happy and You Know It”, which led to more boisterous singing, accompanied by enthusiastic hand-clapping.  By the end of the song, all arms, legs, heads, hands, and feet were in motion.

The design of my front porch is akin to that of a bandshell, so the loud singing, clapping, foot stomping, and laughing was broadcast to the neighborhood, drawing more kids to the dance party until we had at least a dozen kids of all ages singing and dancing.  The impromptu party continued until we ran out of songs on YouTube which, thankfully, coincided with the onset of dusk.  The kids were happy and they had worked off a lot of energy, so they were ready to go home.  I imagine they slept well, with Raffi songs on repeat in their heads. I suppose they were also surprised to learn that TK knew some Ghanaian songs (I mean, they learned “Apples and Bananas” from their Ghanaian teachers at a Ghanaian school in Ghana, so of course that’s a Ghanaian song, right?).

I doubt that I could have organized such a successful dance party if I had tried.  Some of the best times in life arise spontaneously when the right people are in the right place at the right time.  I’m happy that I could share that experience with “my kids”.

Porch Denizens: Homework Homies, Taste Testers, and Goats

I’ll be departing here by the end of August. The thought of saying goodbye to my kids brings tears and sadness.

And more for the animal lovers …

Lastly, although I am not a religious person and I don’t advocate being an ostrich, in these trying times I like the very upbeat attitude in the song, “Keep On The Sunny Side”. Here’s a link: https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=8joVnqleS9Q&si=KhNSleayD4ol_SWa

Until next time, keep on the sunny side!