Accra, Ghana

I have been trying to interview sex workers for an article I have been envisioning for the past five weeks. I had one awkward and unsuccessful attempt at interviewing one woman I met on the street on a Saturday night a few weeks ago. She was picked up by a customer as we were exchanging pleasantries. My nervousness about approaching women kept me from pursuing conversations on several occasions. It seemed that each time we were in the high tourist areas that sex workers frequent, I would be with friends who didn't have anything to do with the project. And it seems that I am like a sex worker repellant for Sean and Nate because when I am around, they steer clear of us as a group.

Finally, we were sitting in Osu on a relatively slow Wednesday night and I happened to see the woman I had tried to interview a few weeks prior. We say hello, but as I am in a group of friends, I do not want to embarrass her by starting to talk immediately about an interview. Instead, I wait until she gets up and starts walking down the road. I tell the others that I think I should follow her; they agree. I race to get some paper to write on but by the time I have found some and I catch up with her, her pimp has joined her and they enter a club with an entrance fee of something like 50,000 cedis. I recognize the guy from a few weeks ago, he had come around to check on the woman several times as we were talking.

I return back to the terrace where we are sitting in a group and dejectedly announce that I have failed. The boys encourage me to look around. There are plenty of other women here that fit the bill. Nate tells me that he thinks that I am making this harder than it should be and that I should just go and talk with a young girl sitting next to us who looks extremely bored. She would be glad to talk to you, he says.

With meeting this young student, my nervousness about talking with these women instantly disappeared. She was a smart, humble, if somewhat sexually innocent girl who was just looking to make a bit of money so that she could pay her way through school. At my encouragement, she was extremely honest about her sexual experiences with white sex tourists (one of whom joined us at the table quite rudely as we were talking). She talked about her life and family and how she learned about sex in a way so open, that I was surprised. I had been creating imaginary blocks in my mind about how hard it would be to relate to women with what I thought would be such a different set of life experiences. I was wrong to have thought that there were too many things to differentiate our experiences as women. The fundamental facts remained: we were both women, we had both had a sexual awakening at a young age, we both had ambitions and goals, and we both struggled to survive through school with minimal parental financial support.

As I returned to our table, the other woman that I had chased down the road returned to the terrace and I got up again to offer her a drink. This time, she accepted. She wondered why I hadn't come to meet her, as we had planned. She looked very tired today. Her story was a little harder to swallow. Her expressions reminded me of the detached faces of some of the women that I visited while I was working in the jail in San Francisco. I could tell by the way that her eyes rolled back in her head when she was contemplating a question, that she had problems with addiction. She didn't seem to have any support system in the country to help her and her situation seemed hopeless. She didn't see a way out for herself. I tried to encourage her, but she ended up becoming withdrawn. I didn't take it as a failure to communicate, her experiences must have been very painful for her. God knows why she actually left her country, Nigeria. She said she had too many outstanding debts that she was unable to pay off, but God only knows what that means. This woman is from Lagos, one of the, if not the most, violent city on earth.

There are many women in West Africa that are driven from their home countries by war, violence and other types of trauma. Sometimes, you will see these women in places like San Francisco, as international trafficking of women is big business. But in West Africa the numbers are bewildering. In almost every city, there are displaced women from Liberia, Sierra Leone, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and other war-torn places. Some of these women have post traumatic stress disorder and lash out at local authorities, their customers, and people they are communicating with. Often they are ignored. They are shunned. Some develop addictions to mask their pain. They have few familial support systems. If they are lucky, they team up with refugees from their home country and form informal support groups that offer nightly protection. Most of the time, they are not able to access governmental social support networks or even medical care. When they get tired of life on the streets, they pile into refugee camps by the thousands where apparently even the aid workers who are supposed to be helping them, solicit them for sex.

There are many more stories that I want explore on the subject of these women, but I think that it would be unwise to do so before exploring how the concept of sexuality is different here in Africa. As Westerners, we cannot hope to understand the African sex industry or even relationships between men and women, in all of their formal and informal gradations, unless we understand more about the economic situation of women in general. I hope to delve into this subject in my next article. The article is the product of these interviews.
* posted by Tuuli at 11:38 AM  —  2 comments

Accra, Ghana- week four

My birthday was absolutely fabulous! We started a day early, of course, with what else but bowling. Yes, you read right... bowling. Some poor Chinese businessman invested in a bowling alley on the beach in Accra. The place is frighteningly empty on a Wednesday night and drinks were mind-bogglingly expensive. We opted to eat and drink elsewhere, in this case, a waakye (beans and rice) stand a few kilometers down the road.

Celebrations began in a seedy roadside tavern that served the usual sketchy local herbal alcohols that claim to cure everything from impotence to malaria. We chose beers and a marvelous drink called Waist and Power because we thought we would need some power in our waists to get continuous strikes at the bowling alley. By the time we arrived back at the bowling alley, we were deliciously lubricated.

The next three games of bowling were as much fun as we have had as a group in a long long time. The staff were amused to see us so delighted and although we tried to bargain the drink prices down with our charm, it was to no avail. Apparently the Chinese owner had decided to play some games of pool in the establishment that night and the staff were too scared to offer us any deals. The Chinese owner swiftly rejected my advances at a conversation and Nate was similarly unsuccessful during a game of pool. We decided after three games of bowling, a couple of rounds of ridiculously expensive Guinness, and a fit of hiccups in the bathroom that it was time to go home.

On my birthday morning, I roused the boys from imminent hangover to pile into the car to take a day trip to the mountains. Along the way, we picked up some home-style cooking of fried chicken, rice, stew and salad from my friend Senyo's mother (who is the best cook in Ghana). Up in Aburi Botanical Gardens, we had a picnic and marveled at the horny spiders and gigantic hand-painted signs that named all the medicinal properties of the plants in the garden.

On our way back into town, we decided to stop at the supermarket. The boys surprised me by buying a wonderful array of four cheeses, crackers, olives and a nice bottle of wine. We gorged all these items down swiftly, as it is rare to eat any milk products here, let alone goat cheeses, blue cheeses, Roquefort and edam. So even though we are out here in the 'bush', my birthday was just about as Western as you can get for this side of the world. Except for the fried chicken, which was better than anything I could have gotten in the US. No AIDS on my birthday, either, which was good.
* posted by Tuuli at 11:13 AM  —  0 comments

Accra, Ghana

I met a man and his girlfriend while having a drink at a small bar in a suburb of Accra. The man talked of the glory days of Ghana with impassioned speech. I came to find out that he was a former diplomat who had traveled the world representing his country in the sixties and seventies. We talked of California until our conversation was interrupted by another woman who insisted that his attention should focus back to his girlfriend. I obliged to this cultural adaptation of male female relations. The girlfriend was a product of the younger generation who wasn't shy about expressing how she was hustling her way through school, like so many young women here do for extra income. As a young person it is extremely hard to get by, which is why so many of this generation are leaving for greener pastures in Europe and America.

Despite the age difference, their relationship was kind and affectionate. He spoke bitterly of the Western monetary institutions' responsibility for the poverty of Africa, while his girlfriend added her agreement and eloquently demonstrated her knowledge of world politics. He spoke of the former educational system, which produced so many bright minds a few generations ago and the current job market, which cannot support them, much less the new generation of workers. He also made jokes about his infidelity. "This beer is for my wife and girlfriend, may they never meet. And if they do, may there be peace" he said. "Don't tell my daddy I was here, he will kill me" she said. While I can't agree with their relationship on principle, they were both charming and I saw him as an honest man. He, along with a handful of other government ministers and representatives of the older generation, who had pride and didn't sell out to steal from the "development" coffers, are now living quite modestly. Meanwhile, today the papers reported that there is scandal in the current government about the President himself pilfering money to "develop" a tourist hotel on the beach. I ruminated over how a country that was once so wealthy could have sunk so low? I wondered if I would be doing the same thing as the young woman, if I was born a different life and was trying to educate myself here. She and I were about the same age and equally outspoken.

Knowing a little bit about the wealth of Ghana in the sixties and seventies gave a depth to the message of the concert that we attended in Independence Square, a concert against poverty. This imposing square was built by Ghana's first president, Kwame Nkrumah, to hold hundreds of thousands of people in rallies and celebrations. On the night of the concert, it held maybe 10% of its capacity, even though some of the biggest names in African music were performing. We had seen advertisements, banners and radio announcements for weeks leading up to the concert, but still, not many people showed up. Why? My guess is that they are too busy being poor. A local DJ tried to pump up the crowd by inciting chants of yelling phrases such as "NO TO POVERTY," but the crowd was not all that responsive. How can we just say no to poverty? Thankfully, the microphone was also handed to activists from as far as South Africa who spoke eloquently about the demands that the people of poor nations should present to their own leaders, as well as world leaders. Like fair trade, like economic justice, like debt reduction... big terms and concepts. I offered some screams to these words, even though I was one of the only ones to do so in the audience.

The message I understood from these experiences is that Ghana is not poor. It is a big sham to think so. All the raw materials to produce many of the medicinal and agricultural goods, all the gold to produce the all the jewelry that Elizabeth Taylor could want, all the water for hydroelectricity, all the workforce, is all right here. However, Ghana does not have economic independence and is forced to extract raw materials at the lowest price as a condition of unbalanced trade agreements and monetary restructuring schemes. The message of the concert was directed at people like me, which would explain the low turnout. We did see many of Accra's white people show up. As we sat with Rita (the Communications Director of Actionaid) in her organization's booth, she admitted that the concert was not really for the African audience, it was for Western audiences, who have the power to do something about the problems that poor nations face.

For fear of sounding too rhetorical, I will end this blog with a happy story. This week, I received my birthday present from my beautiful mother. She sent a plethora of medicines, herbs and vitamins to keep me healthy during the next phase of our trip. Knowing what she does about health and her immense power of prayer and healing energy, I am confident that I will stay as healthy as possible.
* posted by Tuuli at 9:00 AM  —  1 comments

Accra, Ghana

The last few weeks have been a series of stimuli. Seeing old friends, meeting new ones, eating all the good food we want (it is all here), drinking espresso at a coffee house. Accra has it all. Unfortunately, most of the luxuries that we have been so hedonistically enjoying are unattainable to so many. The divisions between the have and have nots are stark. Most people eat one or two meals a day, if they are lucky. The average minimum wage does not even cover daily transport and food costs, let alone rent. As a good friend of mine here says: "Forget about technology and progress for Africa, the people need kenke to eat."

Accra is different from two years ago, when I lived here for seven months. I am no longer trying to prove that I understand the culture from the bottom up. I ride more expensive taxis around town, hopping onto the packed tro tros (buses) only when I know I have some time to spare. We are living in a hotel, I am not spending afternoons washing my own clothes in a bucket. I am on the internet daily, either in another friend's office or downstairs at the internet café that boasts the fastest satellite connection in West Africa. I no longer walk around in flip flops and tattered skirts, but have improved my wardrobe to include shoes and smart looking pants.

The reason for these changes is that I learned some valuable lessons through my experience here. Two years ago, after months of the daily grind of tro tros and kenke, I ended up working for one of Accra's most notorious capitalists and learned another side of Africa. I learned a little realism. I learned that in order to affect change in this world, you have to play the game, even if you think the game is somewhat corrupt. I learned that your idealism will never see the light of day, if you think that the beauty of your thoughts alone will captivate those around you. You need money to be taken seriously; without it, you will always be a slave to others. How did I ever think that I could help others, if I did not have the means? Without the means, idealism just teases people.

There are many people here in Accra who are struggling to survive each day. Although I professed solidarity with the daily struggle two years ago, tro tro, kenke and all, this struggle did not leave me in any better position to help. In fact, the experience left me tired and jaded.

Those who are struggling to survive in this city, and many other cities around the world, do not always have the luxury to care about politics or free trade or what is happening in Ivory Coast or whether they should demand to make their own sexual decisions. They wake up before dawn to wait in a transport line by the side of the road, struggle through traffic to get to town, work superhuman shifts, and return to their home late in the night. They do not have the luxury to think about the big picture.

And why should they? The big picture is discouraging. While it is true, that we have seen and will continue to see many innovative local programs that are working to change perceptions about AIDS, gender roles and such; the sad reality remains that most governments simply do not have the funds to support these programs. Most of the projects we have visited thus far were founded with assistance from the West. Global campaigns, such as the fight against poverty, global fair trade, or the fight against AIDS are grossly contingent on the awareness, input and support of Western audiences. I implore you to consider this.

With this backdrop, I am humbled by the reality of our project. As a young person, raising funds to chase an idealistic notion about challenging people's opinions half way across the world about AIDS is crazy talk. Cultural and social priorities everywhere dictate: food, money, house, spouse. However, we had an idea, followed through with it, saved what we could before taking off, and now we are fundraising from the road to keep it going. Our project represents much more than a way to travel for me. It is ripening my somewhat wounded idealism, because it is firmly rooted in our collective belief that we can somehow affect change in our world.

As we began fundraising for this project, when our idea was written on a piece of paper, when it was a rough budget estimate six months ago, not one funder was taking us seriously. However, with your support, we have managed to raise considerable funds for our project. Although we still don't have nearly enough cash to get there, we are out here with a firm belief that we will make it to South Africa and that we will make an impact.
* posted by Tuuli at 6:27 AM  —  1 comments