HamanahamanaHA!

Hellloooo all!

What a week! Phew, I'm so glad it's over.

As the countdown begins to our return to the States, NYU students are dropping like flies. Malaria, respiratory problems, robberies, concussions, typhoid scares, GI issues, flu bugs, strange rashes, meningitis scares--every thing imaginable has hit us all at once. I myself came down with this ridiculous flu that outsmarted every homeopathic trick I had--then proceeded to outsmart every Western medicine trick I had! I was at a loss. In about 2 hours I went from sick to thinking I had strep throat. That turned into flu symptoms after a sleepless night, which then turned into symptoms of a sinus infection. My symptoms changed every 30 minutes on Tuesday and I called into work for my first sick day ever. I was an absolutely miserable mucusy mess. The doctor paid a house visit after a few of the girls had to go to the hospital for respiratory problems and told me that I could develop pneumonia quickly in this part of the world and needed to go on antibiotics. Being onery, I refused. By Wednesday, my "flu" symptoms suddenly went into my chest and I felt the feeling of pneumonia coming on. I decided to give in and take the antibiotics. Of course, the pharmacy was out of my last day's dosage....so I ended up spending WAY more money than I should have :/ But the antibiotics worked like a charm and now I'm suffering from the sniffles and a cough.

That being said, the conference that I was organizing came off yesterday. The conference was geared to be a student discussion on the effectiveness of aid in Africa, based off of the September Aid Effectiveness Conference regarding the Accra Agenda for Action and the Millenium Development Goals. Over the past week, naturally the logistical craze caught up to my team and every thing turned to chaos. Being a complete and utter useless mess, I was pretty sure the conference was going to fail miserably. Half of my team was sick, the other half angry and stressed, our supervisor a complete space cadet, and me hacking through it all. But, I am pleased to say that it was an enormous success. We had about 50+ attendees (non-organizers) which ended up being the perfect size for our small group discussions. The Vice-Provost of NYU attended as well as the Director of our program. While I was running around trying to get every thing running smoothly, I was unable to actually sit in on the group discussions. From what I heard, the discussions were actually very educational and taught both International and Ghanaian students a lot. We ended up getting speakers from the World Bank, UNDP, CARE International, and an NGO. The speakers did a good job, but the discussions were definitely the highlight of the conference.The response was overwhelmingly positive, so I'm pretty happy about it :)

So, not to worry any one, but this past week one of my friends was robbed. We have been warned since day one not to wear our purses diagonally or facing the road...of course, none of us ever listen. Unfortunately, one night walking home from dinner a car came from behind, snatched the purse, and caused her to fall back onto her head. Thankfully the bag's strap ripped so that she wasn't dragged along...also, she did not have very many valuables in her bag. However, 24 hours later she starts vomiting uncontrollably and the hospital here treats her for malaria....yea. We were all pretty pissed that they didn't even know how to diagnose a concussion. At the end of the day she's ok, but we certainly all learned a lesson.

On Monday I changed supervisors. The COP and dCOP had an intervention with me as they had expected way more work from me and had been forwarded my frustrated email from Gigi (my internship professor). I have now taken the lead on data analysis and collection. Of course, then I fell ill. My dad and I had a nice chat about not letting people take advantage of my work ethic...I'm definitely going to have to put that into perspective as finals have begun and the USAID reports are still for an unpaid internship. Sigh. Too much to think about. I really do like working working more than academically working. I think I'll get it done. As long as I don't get sick again!

Other than that, nothing really new to report. I grabbed an ankle in my back bend which gave me a huge feeling of accomplishment :) I'll be returning to the States in 3 weeks. It's either too little time or too much time. I think I either needed to go home a month ago or stay here for another 6....but I guess beggars can't be choosers!

I'm ok with Ghana today. I don't hate being here.

It is, however, getting HOT and HUMID. I thought it was hot and humid when I got here...ha. Ha ha. Funny joke, eh? I will really appreciate being cold and unsweaty. The "hamana" (or whatever it is called) is here--it's when all of the dirt and dust and sands blow into Ghana and linger in the air making it absolutely impossible for the asthmatics among us to live without wheezing, hacking, and getting pneumonia. Superrrrrrrr.

Accra--Workaholic style

Greetings everyone!

It has been awhile, no? In true JS fashion I put too much on my plate and got mixed up in a mumbojumbo of work, school, and social activities. Also, some learning experiences left me a little shell shocked and reflective. Per usual. So I'll summarize.

Things that I'm doing:

• Organizing a conference to discuss aid effectiveness in Ghana (and the rest of the world) with students from Ashesi, Legon, and NYU. This is coming off November 21...hopefully we pull it together! It is a perfect chance for people (like me) to find out what people living in the developing world (national staff) think--eventually we'll be working together, may as well start learning now!
• Finishing up classes for the semester, writing too many papers, and trying to figure out how to get to an exam on a SUNDAY in November.
• Training new counselors from the National Aids Control Programme for the pilot program I'm working on and trying to launch the third aspect of the program before the end of November
• transferring the data to a new system so that I can actually leave Accra on time.
  
• Trying to figure out how to only take one undergraduate class next semester and graduate. :)

Things that I've done:

• Took a trip to Kumasi to see the cultural center, visit the palace of the Ashanti king, and roam through the hectic market
• Spent my fall break here in Accra working...
• Took a trip to Kokrobite beach
• Applied for graduation May 2009
  
• Gave up dairy (it's a slow process, but quite necessary) (no more chocolate velvet cheesecake...)
  
• Stopped chewing ice! (why I gave up dairy)
• Attempted to vote in the 2008 election. Let's just say that my ballot didn't arrive until Monday, Washoe county won't return my emails, and the Embassy doesn't really just let you add things to the diplomatic pouch....I voted, but it may not be counted. Sigh. Actually, no, it's a complete conspiracy. They have all of this talk about how they want the youth vote to rise and they want absentees to vote and they're doing every thing they can to have your vote counted--but that's crap. They refuse to send out absentee ballots in a timely manner, they don't accept write ins until 14 days before the election, the Embassy makes you wait in line with the people applying to immigrate just to submit your ballot, and no one answers emails! I did everything right. Conceivably, my vote should get to Washoe county. But it won't. Think about how many people are relying on absentee ballots to vote--it's a complete joke. Sigh.
• went to Aburi gardens yesterday--we ate cinnamon bark, smelled all spice leaves, rubbed some menthol leaves on us, and rode bikes around a village. We had the PERFECT day. We also spent a good amount of time sorting through Halloween's festivities, commiserating on our health, and gorging ourselves on jollof rice and fried chicken. Yum.
• Avoiding any and all political arguments.

Last week I had a discussion with a Ghanaian coworker regarding development projects. He told me that if he could go back, he would have never entered into development. Here's an interesting fact: Ghanaians going into development projects have a higher salary. For instance: a driver for the civil service (or NYU) makes 100 Ghana cedis a month. A driver for a development project would make about 300 Ghana cedis per month. That's huge! The same goes for every person in every position. So rather than being fueled by the desire to help people, the national staff is fueled by nothing--this is just a job. What's the incentive? They can't even take bribes (whereas many other people must --take bribes-- to survive/live their lavish lifestyles). Realizing this disparity behind values and beliefs of expats versus national staff was quite shocking. I mean, expats have it pretty easy--everything is covered: food, house, nanny, cook, car, driver, etc. The salary goes right into the bank and expats get to lead a fairly cushy life style. But still, I believe that people get into development with the fundamental purpose of helping in some way. But basically, what I concluded was that development will never work because no one wants it to work and that my entire career path is a joke. Of course, I've snapped out of that. As long as I do my best and believe in what I do, some thing will happen, even if it's just laying a foundation for the next generation. I mean, look at this pilot program. We are getting interest from several other countries and being hailed as the number one response program on the continent. That's pretty impressive.

Then we have work. Work in general just drives me insane. I'm so tired of being talked down to and constantly being out of the loop. Unless I do things myself or say things in a way that persuade others to actually do their job rather than read the paper, nothing ever happens. It's incredibly frustrating. I like to get things done and I am fairly proactive about doing them. When every one of your supervisors is NOT that way, life can be a little difficult. In a moment of absolute frustration, I decided to write a report on September's data and send it to the Chief of Party without having it approved by my supervisor...not in a brown nosing way, but because that is in my scope of work and it was my job. I couldn't wait for her to open her emails and MAYBE look at it the next week.

The report got great feedback from the Chief of Party and we edited it and sent it off to Nigeria, Senegal, and Washington. Even though my supervisor made me feel like crap after it, I can't help but be a little bit proud.

Anyway. I could go on forever. At the end of the day, I'm really starting to miss my friends and family. This town is like high school and the expats all know every one's business. I don't really like that. I love this country, but I'm starting to think I need some thing less comfortable. I was reading through the devex report on the world and realized that I live in a Ghana bubble. Just because I'm in a developing country doesn't mean that the world has stopped killing itself. Wars, cholera, measles, malnutrition, etc etc etc are still happening and I need to stop living in this fantasy world where every developing country is like Ghana. I let myself get too comfortable.

I miss you all and can't wait to see you in December (Reno) and in January (New York). I can't wait to be cold and get to wear clothes again. I can wait to be homeless and cold in New York in the middle of winter....Regardless, we'll have to have a huge reunion fest to celebrate me actually coming back. It's questionable at times ;)

Love you!!
J

a weekend with Habitat and a premature death

Well I certainly had an enlightening, maturing, and "interesting" weekend. This weekend I went to a village outside of Accra to build a home for Habitat for Humanity. There were 30 students, 3 RAs, the Associate Director, and the Director of Community Service. With that much man power, one would expect a lot of work to get done, right?

From my high school years of Mexico trips, I was used to the efficiency of Richard Shaff leading the way, utilizing the most of what little time we had to get the job done. When we built houses, we all had a job and worked until that job was finished. At the end of the day, exhaustion would set in and we would all retire for the night, resting in anticipation for the next productive day. Despite our weary bodies, we would still give it our all.

Well, welcome to the real world, I suppose. Habitat for Humanity is a well known organization. They are international, have projects in the US, and are renown for the "work" that they do. Imagine my thoughts when I realized how disordered and half-hearted this entire project was. As we drove up to the village, I observed the half built houses perched in various corners of the land.

Let me pause by saying this village is like paradise--even though it is literally right off the high way, the village has a sense of seclusion from society. The green is just GREEN, the dirt RED, and the sky a medley of blues and grays. The clouds threatened rain, but we can never tell in this part of the earth. Life was vibrant and the simplicity was just beautiful...I can't wait to show you the photos!

Back to the story. The Habitat people arranged "homestays" for us--we grouped ourselves into four people and marched our way through the village. Every so often Christa (the Associate Director) would yell out "FOUR PEOPLE!" in her ever so grating nasalesque voice and four of us would step forward to drop our stuff off into our new homes. No introduction, no explanation, just a drop off. As we made our way through the village, my group realized that we were the only people with out a home. When we brought this to Christa's attention, she made this confused face and said, "Oh, that's not a problem." The Habitat people didn't look so certain. The four of us followed a boy down a path to a cluster of "houses" and watched him open a door. Christa said that it would be just fine and none of the girls in my group knew what was going on. As far as we were concerned, we were intruding on these people's homes and just wanted to be as little trouble as possible. The room was about 8x10 and was simple as could be--concrete floors, concrete walls, wooden windows on either side and a tin roof. The walls were a beautiful baby blue and the spiders were a deep maroonish red. FYI--they do explode upon impact.

We were told that mattresses would be brought to the room and we left our things to meet up with the rest of the group. As we walked over to our site, we wondered whose room we had taken over and why they had never been introduced to us--we are staying in someone's home, intruding on their daily life, and are expected to be ok with that? All four of us were raised to greet and thank any one who showed us hospitality...the fact that we didn't even have that option was unnerving.

We walked up to the build site to figure out what our job was going to be. There was an existing structure with about 3 rows of bricks. We were to clear land, make bricks, mix concrete, bring the bricks to the site, and add to the foundation. As everyone stood around, I went to figure out how we could get started--we were only scheduled to work for about 4 hours. If we really hustled, we could get a lot done. If we stood around and wasted time, we would get nothing done. Christa immediately picks up a tool and asks if she can help...and proceeds to invent jobs. For the next 4 hours, we cleared land for no apparent reasons, spent our energy ripping out roots and kasava, and poured our sweat into doing made up jobs. I carried bricks on my head and cleared land while other students romped around in a mud pit, attempted to mix the mortar, and pretended to lay bricks. The girls on the program started stripping, the boys wrote all over their bodies, and half of the people stood around doing absolutely nothing. There were a few of us who worked ourselves to exhaustion, but for what? In the end we layed about one line of bricks, made a bunch of "bricks" that were obviously going to fall to pieces the minute they dried, and ended up covered in mud. When the rains started to flood upon our "work," I wanted to cry with exasperation. Why did I give up a weekend of my time to watch students make a fool of themselves? Why did we intrude on this village? Why did we disrupt the lives of these people? What are we trying to prove? That rich American's can prance into a village and "help?"

As my future is in the Non-Profit world, one can only imagine the sense of despair, disappointment, and hopelessness I feel right now. I saw first hand the inefficiency of NGOs in the developing world and it shook me to my very core. Is this the life path that I have chosen? A path of inefficiency, inadequacy, and disaster?

The most enjoyable part of the weekend was playing with some of the kids in the village. As their parents worked from dawn to dusk, the children raised the children--I saw seven year olds who acted like 20 year olds, 13 year olds who paraded around as adults. The facade immediately vanished when they asked us for our empty water bottles...but still. These kids had to grow up so fast.

The rain was relentless and probably ruined any "work" that we had attempted. Our room flooded, but the girls I was with were absolutely amazing. I'm so proud of us. We pooled together our resources and made it work. Our host family couldn't speak to us, but on the way out on Sunday morning we said, " Me da se!" Which means "thank you" in Twi. The woman jumped up and smiled and waved and said "Yoooo!" Despite the language barrier, that one gesture gave me hope that we hadn't intruded too much on their lives.

On Sunday, we had the opportunity to attend church. In a state of complete self-pity, I did not want to go--eventually I heard the service would be in English so I jumped on the bus when I got tired of listening to people complain. Of course, the service was in Twi, but the message is always the same, the actions just a bit different! We definitely did a few rounds of dancing, clapping, and introductions. At one point in time, an elderly woman sang praises--I haven't seen someone with such a genuine glow of happiness in a while. Even as she crawled on the floor, her eyes were filled with joy. I guess that made it all worth it.

On Sunday, I spoke to a little boy about my thoughts. He was a 3rd grader and wanted to get out of Ghana. He studied hard, received good marks, and dreamed of London. He's articulate and wise beyond his years....but he will most likely never leave that village. No matter how well he does in school, his education will not prepare him for the exams that ultimately determine his future. Unless a miracle happens, he will be destined to live the same cycle of his parents, their parents, and their parents. That's the life in the rural village--you wait, and wait, and wait until an opportunity happens to arise. Anyway. I asked him a bit about the Habitat project.

"How often to groups come to help build these houses?"
"Not very often...but hard to say."
"Do groups just show up here and pick up where another group left off?"
"Yes."
"And do these half built structures just sit here waiting for the next group?"
He paused for a moment and looked up at me with an expression I can only describe as resignation.
"Yes."
This confirmed my fears and suspicions. Habitat for Humanity isn't doing squat.

All in all, I'm still trying to come to grips with what happened this weekend. Apologies for such a depressing email.

To make it even more depressing, here's the story of little Shedrack.

Shedrack is Joe's nephew. I work with Joe at SHARP, he's the stats guy. Last Wednesday, Joe and George (another coworker) drove me to my night lecture at Legon as I had to stay at work late to finish up a presentation. Nosey as usual, I eavesdropped on Joe's phone conversation. His sister had taken a job and had placed her 1 year 4 month old son into a creche, a daycare. Wednesday was his first day. Shedrack went missing on Wednesday, and Joe was to go out with a search party. On Thursday they still hadn't found him. On Friday Joe was out of the office. Today I stopped in Joe's office to see if his nephew was ok. He told me to take a seat.

"We found him on Thursday evening..."
"Oh goo--"
"Dead.. Dead dead dead."
"WHAT?! You are joking. Please say you're joking."
"We found him in the bush one kilometre from the creche...dead."

Shedrack, a one year old boy, was found in the bush. An area that had been combed through by over 100 members of the community Wednesday night. He was found with no shoes, no socks, and clean feet. According to the owners of the creche, the creche was locked and he had been on the second floor. Imagine for a moment, a little one year old boy walking down a flight of stairs, opening a gate, and waltzing off into the bush. Exactly.

One of the men who worked at the creche eventually led them to his body. He claimed that he saw the little boy on Wednesday night crying out, "Mamma, mamma" on the side of the road. He claims that he believed the mother was defecating in the bush.

Now. Ghana is a country where a child is raised by the community. Allowing a Ghanaian child to leave Ghana by means of adoption is considered one of the greatest evils. In this community based country, how can a man, who KNEW that this child was missing, drive BY a crying child that he recognized? You've got to be kidding me.

Joe and the rest of the community told the mother that the child had died in the hospital. They couldn't bear to hell her the horrid details.

Tell me, please, tell me why on earth a one year old boy deserved such a horrible demise.

I just can't figure it out. It's times like these that I begin to lose hope in humanity.

Apologies, again, for being such a Debbie Downer.

Despite how disappointed I have been the last few days, by Habitat and by the Ghanaian community, I can't help but see this as an opportunity to DO something about it. I suppose that's what I'll have to do eventually. I can sit and write and complain about this all that I want, I can cry over Shedrack, I can cry over the downward cycle the village kids have been born into, but what GOOD is that going to do?

I hope you all take this to heart. Our lives are so privileged, it's not even funny. We have running water, electricity, bathrooms, and educational opportunities. We don't have to stop work at dusk, we aren't awoken by roosters before day break, and we can afford to procrastinate. When a child goes missing, the search effort is in full force on the police's behalf...they are paid enough to have incentive to do their jobs.

Consider your impact on the lives of others. Believe it or not, your very presence has an impact on another. As Gandhi so famously put, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." I can only hope that I attempt to measure up.

Love to you all,
J

The fisherman's wife

Before the sun has a chance to advance, the fisherman's wife attacks with the daily bustle. Gathering together her daily supplies, she stealthily picks her way around her darkened home. Her sleeping baby rests into the back of her spine, swaddled by vibrant colors, breath matched with breath.

She marches to the market, basket on head, baby on back: a delicate balance requiring expertise and strength. She makes her way along the well-trodden path, arriving to the field of ordered chaos just as dawn begins to break. Without waking her child, she spreads out her artillery: fish, okra, garden eggs and a handful of ripe green peppers. The winning combination for a nutritious meal sit at her station, awaiting combat.

The bargaining begins and she tirelessly surges ahead, advancing on the lethal rays of sun. By the end of the day, she gathers her cast off shells with her resting child, preparing to retreat for the night.

Upon reaching her home, she greets her husband with the profits from the day and a small meal. Making just barley enough to satisfy his fee, she and her child go to sleep.

Hungry.

Without earning more than her husband requires, the fisherman's wife is unable to purchase the food necessary to feed her or her child. Despite the abundance of nutrients existing before the day's work, she and her child must go hungry to survive in the future. If they go hungry today, perhaps they will eat tomorrow. Perhaps her husband will be less hungry.

This is the life of too many in the fishing villages of Cape Coast and Elmina. Despite the abundance of fresh fish and other goods, malnutrition is on the rise. In order to compete with the market economy, social hierarchy dominates: man, woman, then child. When a woman is unable to sell her goods at a high enough price, she lacks the money necessary to purchase additional food. She must feed her husband, the worker of the family, before herself or her child.

In a village in the north that has an abundance of wild chickens, it is said, "Not eating the chicken will kill the child. Eating the chicken will kill the family."

What is the price of a life?

Another.

The price tag on life means everything for this fisherman's wife. Her husband's life is worth the most, followed by hers, followed by her child's. In a country where the children are raised by the village, children are the first to starve.

Where are the ethics? What is the sense? When the food is available, why not feed oneself before attempting to bite into the market?

Because in a market economy, involvement in the market is equivalent (if not greater than) eating to survive. Without a place in the market, one can never advance in life. One's children will never be able to catch up. Rent will never be paid and human capital alone is not enough to survive. Without a presence in the market, one is doomed into a downward cycle. At least in the market, there is hope.

With the market in its current state, what is the sense? The fisherman's wife is competeing in an economy that is faltering, an economy that the entire world is scrutinizing, wondering what will happen next. Why are we trying to develop countries by integrating them into a failing system?

Why can a community not function by sustaining itself? If a community banded together to live off of its own goods, utilized the government's responsibility to educate its children, and worked in cooperation with, but not necessarily soley on, the market system, would advancement be possible? Is human capital enough?

While the trend is leaning towards development via microcredit, I can't help but wonder if our values are in order. Is it right to allow a child to starve in order to earn hope for the future? What is the sense in allowing the very generation we are trying to provide hope to wither away in starvation?

Will the battle with the market ever be won? Is there a chance, or are children around the world dying in vain?

Our Greatest Fear: Marianne Williamson

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves,
Who am I to be brilliant,gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some, it is in everyone.

And, as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

the fast life in Ghanaian time

Well everyone, my Ghanaian life finally began and JS' dayplanner has been reinstated.

Did you miss me? ;)

I began my internship with AED (Academy for Educational Development) with their project in Ghana, SHARP (Strengthening HIV/AIDs Response Partnerships). SHARP is a 5 year project funded by USAID that "seeks to use an evidence and researched-based approach to identify most-at-risk groups, understand their needs, and develop targeted interventions based on these results." With the rise in technology significantly impacting the rush towards globalization, SHARP introduces technological approaches to develop said interventions. The project that I am currently working on is called "Text Me! Flash Me! Watch Me!" Utilizing the mobile phone networks, this program works to anonymously aid the stigmatized and marginalized populations suffering from HIV/AIDs by offering private online counseling along with providing tolerant clinics. When I interviewed for this internship, I was informed that the project was doing 300x better than expected--they were not kidding.

As I am not quite technologically inclined, the barrier between technical worlds has impacted me far greater than I had anticipated. My first day I "out-teched" the tech guy with my J-friendly MacBook. The computers the offices uses need to be reformatted and are riddled with errors. The infrastructure is so poorly developed that sending and receiving anything externally is questionable. Additionally, the only database software available is a 2003 version of Excel along with Access. Now, I can maneuver my way around Excel, but I am no where near competent enough to create a database from scratch. Queries? PivotTables? What?

I was handed a pile of data dating back to May and asked to create order so as to analyze the data. As this is a pilot program, data analysis is key as is speed and efficiency. Somehow I created a variety of 'databases' and spreadsheets...unfortunately I am the only one with the information. After a week, I had a sinking feeling that I was going to be asked to analyze the data in a way that I would be unable to do. The guy working with me on statistics told me to literally tally every page by hand--I told him that that was ridiculous as after two weeks in a 12 week pilot we had over 300 entries. Move to my second week of work with a JS meltdown...don't worry, it was internal. I sat in despair in between classes on Wednesday convinced that I needed to quit school and go to work immediately to figure out a new way to enter the data. Of course, the internet at home is so spotty that it never works when you really really need it....but I shouldn't complain as there are not many people with internet any where NEAR their homes here.

Well, I decided that the only thing I could do was to invent a system so as to analyze the data. Since the stats guy had no idea how to input data into the computer, I invented the J-style system that no one except for me will understand. But it will work and ultimately that's all I care about. :) The stats guy seemed quite baffled by my little system...but, hey, he couldn't help!

It is times like these that I wish I was more computer savvy.

Well that's my work experience. I went to a "party" for our client-demographic last night and was absolutely amazed by the effects of stigmatization. The system of codes and key phrases that exist are quite incredible in the underground world. I still have much to learn about life in the developing world. Last night was quite interesting though as the SHARP driver dropped me off at the Osu roundabout and I had to find my way home for the first time ever--at 11:30pm. I walked up the street, hopped on a tro-tro (for the first time) and was dropped off at the Labone junction. Thank goodness Chris (a CRA) had shown me the way to and from the Labone junction on Tuesday morning when I rushed around to get my visa extension done. Despite having absolutely no sense of direction, I obviously got home. !!!

School is going ok...I feel intellectually stifled in my Legon courses which is slightly frustrating-I actually went and argued with my professor after class on Wednesday, much to the horror of my friend in class....but the professor saw my point and said that he may be ok with that on the exam as it showed that I was using my brain....sigh. In addition to my 20 hour internship and full course load, I am trying to organize a conference with students from Legon, Ashesi, and NYU to discuss the Aid Effectiveness Conference from September. I am in charge of twenty students in my Internship class. I am in charge of twenty students who have no desire to participate, do not accept that I'm supposed to be in charge, and who just want to party party party. Talk about frustrating....this conference has potential to be absolutely amazing and enlightening, but 2/3 of the class hates the professor, refuses to participate, and spends every night getting wasted and making a mess in my house. I am not pleased. And all of our cups, mugs, and plates have disappeared! There are definitely issues with living with the people you are supposed to work with. Hm. At this point, my professor either needs to tell the class that they need to actually listen to me or she needs to cancel the conference--why would I put in all of this effort when nothing is going to get done? Big sigh, deep breath. It is a good thing I enjoy being busy.

Last weekend a Homestay was arranged for those of us brave enough (or awkward enough) to be sent to live in a home with strangers. My family was absolutely amazing. The mom and dad were extremely hospitable, as were their three children. The eldest, Steven, was about 19 and had just finished a year of aviation school. His exam grades were not good enough to go to University so he was retaking them that weekend. The middle child, Samuel, is 16 and the youngest child, Esther, is 12.

Samuel was supposed to be studying in America for the year but was told three weeks ago that AFS couldn't find a host family for him and that he wouldn't be allowed to go. He has a visa--that's generally the hardest part for a Ghanaian. On Saturday I was taken along to Cape Coast to take Samuel to his final year of Secondary School--he was incredibly embarrassed. He had already told his friends, teachers, and peers that he would not be returning...he was so embarrassed he wanted to switch schools. Samuel is a very well mannered and intelligent boy--his grades are so good that he would have been eligible to be a class prefect. Class prefects get to sleep in a room with three other prefects. Normal students get to sleep in a warehouse type building with walls dividing groups of 12 students. Samuel more or less got shafted. If any one is interested in taking in a very polite and studious Ghanaian for a year, please let me know!

Esther and Steven have physical and mental disabilities. The strangest thing for me was that no one really acknowledged this fact--the parents actually acted as though there was nothing different about them at all. Which is fine until the Steven's poor test scores came into discussion or when Esther was trying to get her home work done. Ironically, before I came here I had mentioned to Aunty Jacque that one of the hardest things for me was working with disabled children. I definitely spent 2 solid days with Esther attached to my hip....It wasn't as hard as I had anticipated :)

The drive to Cape Coast is an experience in itself. We were supposed to leave at 7am, so I was up by 6. Well, 5 hours later I was still sitting on the couch reading/talking to Esther. When we finally left at around 1, the traffic was so terrible that we didn't arrive in Cape Coast until about 5:30pm...it is normally a 2 hour drive. We finally ate at Cape Coast University where the food was absolutely delicious! We all had "Red-Red," a plate with plantains, beans, and chicken. So good. Like, seriously, so good. I tried to pay for the meal and the dad just laughed at me. Sigh. By about 6:30 we decided that it was time to leave back to Accra.

It gets dark in Ghana at 6:30. I looked at Mr. Mensah and asked him if he was alright to drive....and noticed that he had cataracts.

O-M-G.

I sat in the back of the car with Esther sleeping on my lap for about 4 hours terrified. I was absolutely convinced that I was going to end up in a mangled car wreck on the road back to Accra and that my mother's worst fears were going to happen, but at least the money paid for SOS insurance was going to be used.... Mr. Mensah drove terribly slowly, swerved every time an oncoming car came close, and dodged every tro-tro/bus that overtook us. Terrifying. I offered to drive his not-so-sturdy manual car, but he continued to say that he was fine.

In the end, we got home safe and sound and I ate some of the leftover dinner Aunty Angela prepared. I then went to sleep under the lovely little mosquito net. I woke up at 6 cuddling with the mosquito net. Yea, don't ask. I got up and got ready for church....Ghanaian time, we were about 2 hours late for church. Which is totally fine as church is about 5 hours long. The message was good, the songs the same as the States, and the speaking in tongues an interesting little addition to the routine. I met the pastor after church and he was quite nice.

The family is so kind--we stopped by a market after church and Aunty Angela actually payed for my fruit, refusing to let me saying that it would be like letting her own daughter pay for food. I said that I paid for my own food, and she tsked tsked "The culture is different here." Oh, the oranges were 25 pieces for 1Ghana Cedi (about 1 dollar). Loveeee it.

All in all I had an incredible weekend but would have liked a more "cultural" experience. Some students shared beds with grandmas, lived on a polygamist compound, and/or pounded fufu after bathing in a bucket. But everything happens for a reason and I was put in a situation I previously though I would be uncomfortable in.

I feel as though this email is not as fun as my other ones. Apologies.

So basically, my life here is absolutely busy! I go to sleep by about...11. I wake up by about 6, and I run around Accra getting my work done before the weekend. This is the first (and only) weekend we have in town. Lots to do, lots to do.

I did watch the debates last night, 1am Ghana time. I won't go into it, but I should have just gone to bed.

Yesterday when I got to work, I had an idea of everything I needed to accomplish in my 5 hours at the office. Well, plans sure change when I arrived at 8:30 and was told that power was out, internet was down, and intranet was unavailable. While in NYC the office would be in chaos and the IT guy would be frantically trying to find a satellite to connect to, everyone just sort of....conversed. Now, those of you that know me know how awkward I am with actual human interaction....But we just sat around and talked to one another. I have been so frustrated the last few months with the bombardment of political views that I pretty much wanted to scream--yesterday I finally had a mature political discussion. Instead of having immature liberal ideologies thrown into my face (who made fun of my mother's political views) (I was pissed) I was able to have a polite discussion where I actually found out about a few educated Ghanaian views on the American election and they listened to my reasons for being undecided.

To think. People actually listened to me, understood my point of view, and RESPECTED my opinions.

I also met my first Ghanaian against Obama.

Now don't get me wrong--I am not saying that I am pro-McCain OR pro-Obama. I am not anti either party. I am the epitome of undecided. But finally having a conversation where I was respected for my views was really, really refreshing.

I hate politics.

X held a movie night on Tuesday to view the War Room, a film based on the 92 political campaign for Clinton. After the film we had a discussion about the film in relation to the current election. Now, I am fine with people who are extremely steadfast in liberal ideology, but I am NOT fine with having it spat at me in a condescending way. I am also not fine with X attacking conservative views in a snide, malicious way. I was extremely offended and went to bed extremely angry. X actually sneered when I said that my mother supported McCain and Palin and was conservative in her views.

What the hell happened to tolerance and respect?

When a friend of my introduced the conservative side for the strict purpose of discussion, X literally laughed and snidely remarked that those views were stupid.

This woman is something else. Yes, this is the woman who more-or-less told me that I was hospitalized for drinking too much, not from the meal provided by NYU. When I hadn't been drinking. At all.

Times like these I really start to lose hope in humanity. Of course, it is quickly regained when I look at the people (like you!) that I interact with on a daily basis. I suppose we have to have people like that to balance out the good in the world....

Ok, this email is too long, too jumbled, and too boring. I'm trying to upload photos from my homestay, but facebook doesn't really like me today and I have a lot of work to get done! My roommate's (Julia) 20th was on Thursday so we are taking her out to dinner tonight. We are attempting to find this elusive Thai place that does not exist online but has a billboard at the Osu roundabout....the phone lines in Accra have been down, so its existence is questionable. Should be an adventure!

I hope everything is well!!! Take care :)

Dreams of dim sum and bagna...
J

To be brief...

I went on a trip to Cape Coast this weekend with NYU...we stayed at the most beautiful beach resort, saw a slave castle, and lounged around for a day.

Yes, I am a spoiled brat. I suppose this is why my tuition was so high...

A few photos...

http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2369387&l=603cb&id=824230

The slave castle was quite an amazing experience...to see and stand in the places where these people were tortured, raped, and murdered was incredibly powerful for every person on the trip.

We then went on a little canopy walk--hundreds of feet above the ground in a tropical environment walking on makeshift board and rope bridges--one section was broken as a tree had fallen on it. I of course wanted to try it out any way, but everyone I was with stopped me. Either way, it was INCREDIBLE looking down into a canopy of trees. I felt a little bit like a monkey! (But not in the evolution sense, kids.)

We then went back to the hotel, went for a swim, had a bonfire on the beach, and basically acted like little rich kids. This does nothing to disprove my theory.

Enjoy your week :)

J

PS: I'm feeling MUCH better!

J's Hospital-errific Weekend!

I said I wanted to experience the culture. I said I wanted to be uncomfortable. I said I wanted to stop being a "bourgeoisie" NYU student and integrate myself into the Ghanaian lifestyle.

Be careful what you ask for.

Perhaps this was just karma for having such a great stomach during all of my travels throughout my life. Or perhaps this was just a big slap in the face to JS' I'm too good for modern medicine and I want to try to keep natural attitude. Either way it sucked.

What am I talking about you may ask--well, J took a little trip to the hospital this weekend.

Yes, yes, some of you may already know and have been reading (or receiving my mother's incessant mass text messages) my incessant mass facebook/myspace updates, (CRAP. This is one of those "I'm just like my mom" moments. Oh well. Embrace it eh?) but for the rest of you, story time! (This may be a longer email than I had anticipated. For those of you who don't want to read it know that I'm healthy, on lots of medication, and almost at 100% and skip to the last few paragraphs!) (I use a lot of parentheses.)

Friday night--dinner with our meal plan at Sunshine Salads followed by a little (alcohol free) soiree courtesy of NYU at one of the dorms. They basically invited a bunch of Ghanaian men, bussed them in, and took us all back to seventh grade where the boys stand on one side and the girls stand on the other. Of course, being the nut that I am, I was running around from group to group practicing my Ghanaian hand shake (it has a joint finger snap at the end--so cool!) and telling people to be social. I was also tired of the standard "what's your major, what level are you, what country are you from" blah blah blah getting to know you crap and was ready to get jiggy with it. I was finally feeling better after 2 weeks of flu/salmonella poisoning/ridiculousness and was ready to jump, jive, and wail (if you will). Add about a bucket of sweat and that's what our little soiree turned into! Actually, somehow everyone took my shouts of "DANCE! I'M BORED!" to mean "GET IN A CIRCLE AND CLAP AND PUT PEOPLE IN THE MIDDLE TO SHOW OF THEIR SKILLZ!" (sic.) At about 11:15 I was tired and ready to get some rest but the mother in me told me that I needed to help clean up. Thank goodness there are about 7 other girls on the program who were raised with the same values. We rallied together and picked up soda bottles and packed them for recycling (they are anal about returning the glass bottles here--the restaurants and vendors will chase you down the street to get them back!), picked up the garbage, and shoved the Ghanaian boys off the tables and brought them inside. The Ghanaian women were surprised by how strong we ubruni women are ;). After picking up the place and making sure the CRAs didn't have much left to clear up, those of us well-mannered ladies got in the van and headed to our beds for some much needed rest.

Rest.

At about 3am I woke up freezing. I turned off the air conditioner, put on a sweater, and wrapped myself in a blanket. Then the shivering started--uncontrollable shivering that lasted for about 3 hours. Lucky for me the shivering came with bouts of bathroom trips (no explanation necessary). Up and down the bunk bed I went wondering what the heck was going on and terrified that I was going to wake up my poor bunkmate Julia. At about 6am the earthquake ended and fire erupted. I ripped off my sweater, threw off my blanket, and stared at my ceiling wondering if I was imagining things or not. At about 6:30 I was so hot and felt as though someone had socked me in the head, I got off my bunk, grabbed my blanket, and layed on the floor in the hallway. I was really weak and didn't want to go down the stairs. By about 7 I decided to go lay on the nice cool tile of my living room downstairs. Between bouts of hot and cold I slowly realized that I wasn't just imagining things. My body was so hot I was pretty sure I could crack an egg and eat that for my breakfast. I went and woke up my poor CRA Debbie (she had mentioned sleeping until noon and I felt really bad) at about 7:30. She felt my forehead and called the nurse. We went back out to the living room to wait for the nurse and I told her all of my issues:
-shaking and cold
-hot and sweaty
-bouts of hot and cold
-body aches (particularly in my joints)
-MASSIVE headache
-GI issues

Debbie shook her head and said, "I think it's malaaaaria... Don't worry, the pills will make it all go away!" I then took two ibprofen and drank someone's apple juice while laying on the floor in the living room. Talk about classy.

As the rest of the house started to wake up for their various weekend activities, they saw my decrepit self laying in a hot mess (literally) on the floor. We told everyone we thought it was malaria but that I'd be fine.

At the time I felt fine besides a massive headache, a little weak, but good enough to hold a conversation.

The nurse was stuck in traffic but arrived at about 10:30. She took my temperature and blood pressure--my temp was about 105F, pulse at 106 (my resting is about 65-70) and my BP was around 100/60...a little low, but nothing serious. She suggested we go to the hospital. I resisted, of course--I absolutely hate hospitals and have never been admitted to one in my conscious life! They are full of sick and sad people and make you wait so long that you end up catching various infections in the waiting room! No thanks.

But they made me so I got my ID, Chris (another CRA) got a cab, and off we went.

On the way to the hospital I started to feel really nauseous, but figured it was just the broken fumy cab and bumpy roads. We stopped at an ATM for the nurse--while nurse Mary was out of the cab, the cab driver asked me to marry him. I looked at him with my makeupless face and disheveled hair and said, "No!"

By the time we got to the hospital I felt like absolute s-h-i-t. I was suppressing the nausea and was having a really hard time staying awake. Nurse Mary was wonderful and took care of all of my paperwork for me.

The Nyaho Medical Centre is an open air facility (as most facilities in Ghana) with a "take a number" system. You drop your ID card in the box and wait your turn. It doesn't matter how sick you are, you wait your turn. By the time it was my turn to go to the Temperature Room, I felt as though I could hardly stand up. This is not normal--I am a strong girl and refuse to believe that I am ever sick. When I am sick, I take various combinations of symptom-suppressants and continue with my life. The fact that I couldn't stand up was a little troubling to me. The nurse took my temp and blood pressure--she didn't tell them to me (which I will touch on later) but I looked at my chart. My temp was 38.6 and my BP was 90/35. Time for me to panic. I told Mary my readings and she said, "3-5??? You're joking!" And ran out to find someone to see me. But in Ghana you wait your turn. They walked me over to the waiting room where I proceeded to go in and out of "consciousness." We'll just say that I was taking a little nap, ok? At one point a nurse was calling a name that was not mine and I woke up to Mary yelling, "That isn't her! This is JS." The person the nurse was calling was the overweight white woman staring at me who proceeded to look up and say, "Oh, that's me." Psh. I went back to sleep.

Finally it was my turn and I walked into the doctor's office--it was FREEZING! My only reaction was to gasp and grab my arms, sit in the chair, and huddle over his desk.
The doctor looked at me and said, "How are you doing today?"
I replied, "I've been better. How are you?"
He just chuckled and continued reading my chart, asking if I was taking my prophylactics (my anti-malaria pills, not condoms), and if I had been wearing bug repellent.
I said "yes yes yes yes can you please just give me something to get rid of my headache?"
He said "Hmmm....add meat?"
Mary replied "I would LOVE that."
I thought to myself, "But I'm not hungry! Besides, I eat enough already, why would you want me to add meat?" and said out loud, "Pardon me?"
Then he said, "We would like to admit you."
Oh.

OH.

"NO! I hate hospitals! I just want to take my pills and go home! I don't want to be admitted into a flipping hospital in flipping Africa!"

Yes, imagine me hysterically crying. I'm pretty sure he only heard about two words of the above sentence.

Mary came over and told me that it would be alright and that they would take good care of me but that it would be in my best interest to stay there for observation. She called Christa (the eccentric program assistant director) and Christa told me that for any Westerners who appear as sick as I do, they automatically want to admit them for malaria. I told her that my stupid Larium was overpriced and overrated and the food they served us with our meal plan was poisoned and that I would indulge in the hospital's overprotective scheme to take the "rich ubruni's" money only because my blood pressure was so low I couldn't walk.
Ok, you can chose for yourself what part of that sentence was said aloud and what part was kept in my head. ;)

Anywho.

They stuck me in a wheel chair and wheeled me off to the lab room where they drew some blood (needle #1) and gave me vials for various sampling. No need to elaborate. As I was being wheeled from the testing part of the hospital to the admitting part of the hospital, I saw another girl from my program sitting in the waiting room.

At some point in time I arrived in my room, but I don't really remember getting there. I know that just as I crawled into my bed I was told to get up and give those little samples. Woooo. Point to note--they do not provide/allow hand soap in the hospital room bathrooms. I'm still quite skeeved.

I crawled back into bed, took my glasses off, and fell asleep. Then I heard "Hello. How are you. Ok sorry, a little poke, ok?" I said, "What?" Segway into Needle #2. and #3. Now I give blood every 8 weeks and know what it feels like to have a needle inserted into a vein. It hurts at first but then you have the nice dull pain of the needle sliding INTO the vein. I have also had the unfortunate experience of an incompetent nurse going THROUGH the vein AND rolling the vein. No dull pain, just pain. This was just pain. After yelling, "Ow ow ow for the love of GOD stop." She replied, "I have to put it in the vein!" I moaned, "You're not doing it right. Get away from me!" Instead, she proceeded to try to poke a different vein, equally as painful, equally as wrong. I proceeded to knock her in the head with my leg and implored Mary to get her out of the room. Mary got her out of the room and I rummaged around for my glasses. Now, to the nurses credit, my blood pressure was so low it was difficult to find a vein--but not THAT difficult. I looked at Mary and said, "I know that this is going to hurt. But I know that she is doing it wrong. Please get someone else to do this or don't do it at all." Mary went and came back with a new nurse who put the needle in quite nicely (Needle #4). They hooked me up to this little bag of saline solution and I went back to sleep.

--I'm going to pause to say that the entire night was a jumbled blur of activity and I don't really know what was going on the entire time. But it's funny to try to remember it...--

Mary came in and out and I was absolutely drenched in sweat. The good lady got a cold towel to cool me off like my momma would do if I had a high fever.

At this point another student, James, had been taken to the hospital.

"Sorry, I have to give you injections now, ok?"
I wake up and wonder what is going on. A nurse is standing over me (ok, I'm going to be honest. Without my glasses I can't see any thing. But because the people here are black and their uniforms are white, I can "see" them! It's great.) and said I have to give you two little injections. I asked what they were for and she replied vaguely that they were for fever and headache. I just nodded and gave her my arm (I was too weak and tired to even argue--obviously I was sick). She laughed and said, "No, no, not there. In your bum!" I said, "You're joking. You seriously can't put it in my arm?" "No, we don't do that here! Which side?" "No, really, you can't.." "No, which side. I just turned around and said "This is ridiculous."

Two shots (#5, #6) in my bum. They still hurt and it has been 4 flipping days. I do NOT recommend that. But they made the headache go away and my fever break so I guess it's alright. :/

I went back to sleep and opened my eyes to a figure. Now, in my state of delirium, I thought she was asking what I had eaten the night before.
"Sunshine Salads. We ate the same thing. Spring rolls, vegetables, rice, salad. Oh, salad with pesto!"
Then I heard, "Spring rolls? No we have chicken, fish, rice..."
"Huh?"
I put my glasses on and realized that she was asking me what I wanted to eat for supper. In some jumbled sentences I managed to get out chicken and plain rice and went back to sleep.

At some point in time a nurse came in to take my temperature. I saw that it was about 7pm and I knew that I hadn't eaten any thing that day--I wasn't hungry but I'm smarter than my stomach and asked for some food. At some other point in time a lady came in and woke me up with food. I ate the chicken and rice and went back to sleep.

I am omitting my frequent trips to the bathroom. Let's just say that after every meal and then some and nothing actually stayed in my system for two days. The IV's wheels didn't work so it was quite an awkward experience that I hope never to have to endure again. As I'm sure you feel with this horrendously long email.

At some point in time a bag of antibiotics was put into my IV and I was told to let them know when it was finished. I woke up and saw that it was empty and told them that it was finished...about 45 minutes later I called ANOTHER nurse that it was finished and they put the saline bag on again.

Just as that occurred I heard a voice outside--I knew it was Christa. Her voice is loud, American, and unforgettable. I possibly have nightmares that involve Christa's voice. So I put my glasses on and waited for her arrival. She opens the door and immediately says, "We need to get you a private room!" and rushes out to speak to the nurses. When she comes back in I say, "Oh, it's not really that necessary." "Are you sure? When we have other students come to the hospital, we try to get them into a private room. It's ok to be a little snotty, you know." "Um, I just don't want to move very much." "Ok, well if you want a private room..." "Ok, I'll let you know if I feel like moving." She asks how I'm doing, assures me it's not malaria, and assures me that it was not the food that NYU provided.

Bullshit. (sorry)

She hands me InStyle magazine (because all females are vapid and superficial, duh) continues to assure me that I'm in good hands. I was so lonely I was happy to see her. Ha. Anyway, after assuring me that I was in good hands and telling me that I should be in a private room (bourgeois NYU conspiracy!!!) she leaves to go to some party (I'm pretty sure she didn't come in earlier because she was getting her hair re-done. Not even joking.). Oh yea, apparently being the Assistant Director of NYU-Ghana means that she's a little socialite in the rich people's world of Accra. Go her.

After she leaves, Mary comes in to check on me. Ellie had just been brought to the hospital and was being taken home. Mary left for the night and I ask the nurse to make sure the IV was working.

The story of the IV: WARNING--this is a little graphic. Not for those of you squeemish about needles or blood.
So the little bag was about half the size of those in the US. From having sat with two anorexic roommates in a hospital in the US hooked up to IVs, I was sure that I was supposed to have 4 of the Ghanaian bags over the course of about 10 hours. I had only used about half of one of my bags. The nurse said that it was working and that I just needed to rest.

At about 2am I wake up drenched in sweat to the all too familiar smell of blood. I don't think my nose is bleeding, so I'm a little confused--then I glance down at my hand. I push the emergency button and fumble around for my glasses. The nurses come in, turn on the lights, and look at me in absolute horror. I look down at my hand to see that it was covered in blood and that the IV had disconnected. I turn around and see that my entire bed was covered in blood. My blood. My blood from my HAND. Pillow, sheets, clothes, everything covered in a lovely shade of red. I look up and mumble that I was sorry. They say, "You have to be careful!" I said, "I was sleeping!" I thought "YOU IDIOTS. ISN'T IT YOU FLIPPING JOB TO CHECK ON ME SO THIS SHIT DOESN'T FLIPPING HAPPEN?" I sat in a chair as one of the nurses tried to clean up my hand, the other my bed. The nurse then went to put BACK in the IV. The bag was empty. I said, "um, excuse me, no. No. Sorry. The IV is clogged up with blood. You can take it out now." The nurse said, "No, we have to put it back in." I said, "NO. You will take it OUT now." She sort of scoffed and took it out. I went to the sink to wash my hand off and of COURSE my vein started to burst out with blood. I said, "Excuse me, I'm bleeding." The nurse just looked and said, "Oh, she didn't put plaster on it? Just wait." I applied pressure like a smart human being and proceeded to wash off the crusty blood from my hand. The nurse came and put some tape on my vein and I went back to sleep.

The next day I was woken up at 5:30. I sat around and eventually they brought me some oatmeal and toast. I was convinced that I was going to go home.

Ha.

A nurse came in and told me that I needed to wash. I said, um, ok. Mary had brought me some clothes and body wash from home, so I went to the little communal bathroom to take a shower. Well, the shower head didn't work to it ended up being a very cold rinse off with the buckets that were in the bathroom. Sanitary, I know.

A doctor came by around 9am. First doctor I had seen since being admitted. The doctor-patient ratio in Accra is something absurd like 1:100,000, so I had expected very little interaction with a medical professional. I asked him if I could go home and he full on laughed at me! I mean, I thought I was asking a serious question here and he said, not you'll stay at least one more day. I asked him what was wrong and he just said, "Did you miss a dose of your prophylactic?" I said, "No." Then he left.

So in Ghana, they don't really tell you anything. I learned this in Medical Geography but didn't actually believe it. They would not tell me what they were sticking into me, what I had, what the test results said, nothing! In the US, they give you ridiculous amounts of information with details that you don't even understand. Here, I actually had to have Mary call them while she was at home and have HER tell me my test results. All she told me was that there were no malaria parasites in my blood but that parasites don't necessarily show up for 2 weeks, so they were going to treat me for food poisoning and malaria just in case.

Fine fine fine, why can't they just give me the pills and send me home?

Nope. Here comes needle #7. I ask what this is for and the nurses just said "Infection and fever." They are sticking two vials of unknown substance into my veins and all they can say is "infection and fever?" When they are finished, I ask if they can take the needle out and they said no. Great. So I sat around all day with a lovely needle in my hand.

Mary arrived with my homework and computer and I luckily had a little wireless connection where I proceeded to scare everyone with news of my hospitalization. Of course, I could type a facebook status so I was doing pretty OK. I told my dad all of the pills that I was taking and he and I googled them to figure out what the hell I was having shot into my system. It turns out one of the pills was banned in the US because of the crazy after-effects. When I told the nurse that I didn't want to take it, she told me that I had to and handed it to me. I of course told my dad that she made me take a pill I didn't want to take, he called Christa, Christa called Mary, and Mary had a few heated words with the nurses about the right to refuse treatment.

Anyway, I'm pretty much over writing this email and I'm sure you're tired of reading it so I'll wind up.

I was in the room with four other people. Two on one side, two on the other. I was placed next to a window which happened to be next to a church. I heard worship songs (the same as in the US!) all night Saturday and all day Sunday. They have VERY long services here. The patient next to me was a little baby with malaria and food poisoning. He laughed for the first time on Sunday afternoon and I was so happy. On the other side of the room (which I couldn't see from my position) were two very loud women. One was on the phone all day Sunday and all day Monday telling people that she was still in the hospital--it was slightly amusing. Hey, I was bored. The other one was doing this awful wheezing moaning thing. Mary had "investigated" them to make sure they didn't have any contagious diseases. The rooms are unairconditioned so I was constantly sweating and the night nurses really like to turn the lights on at various times in the night and say, "Sorry! Wake up!" to give people medicine. They give you medicine here at the EXACT time they're supposed to.

The hospital is very very lonely. All I wanted to do was talk to someone or read something substantial or do SOMETHING! They do not give you water, so when I felt like I could walk I ended up getting up (needle in hand) and walking out to the waiting room where there was a water cooler to fill up my water bottle. I definitely question the sanitary state of the hospital as I'm pretty sure they don't scrub the walls after icky patients.

Aunty Akosua (the Director of the program) came by on Sunday night from her village--Christa had told her that I was ill but hadn't kept her updated so she decided to come into town and see for her self. She's such a nice lady....She really cares for each and every student in her program.

On Sunday, four more students were brought into the hospital. When I finally told the doctor that I was leaving on Monday, there were three students in the waiting room.

Last night at our "Meet the Faculty" meeting, Christa had the nerve to blame our sickness epidemic on our rampant drinking. Eh hem. Oh Christa. I've been sick with one form of the flu or another the entire time and have been told to "stop being lame". I did have one half shot of gin with a bottle of club soda on Thursday night, but that was it. I did not drink at the soiree nor did 8/9 people who came into the hospital over the weekend. The fact that she tried to blame our hospital trips on alcohol was absolutely appalling.

At the end of the endeavor, I was stuck with 7 needles and given four different pills--one for arthritis, one for headaches, one course of anti-malarials, and one course of antibiotics. I'm only taking the latter two.

All in all, the hospital trip was a true cultural awakening, but I am sure I was treated far better than most people in this country. I was at a private hospital--sure, they don't have any electronic machines and take your temperature from your arm-pit, but I still received treatment. Had I been taken to 37 Military Hospital, one of the main public hospitals in Accra, I'm sure I wouldn't have had to wait in the long lines that begin each day--but the rest of the population does: you wait in a line all day knowing that if the business day ends before you are treated, you will have to start again tomorrow. No matter how sick you are, in Ghana, you wait. As a Westerner, I was treated with more drugs in one weekend than an average Ghanaian would see in his/her lifetime (minus the malaria medication). Ghana, although one of the more developed countries in Africa, lacks a lot in the medical realm. Hand soap in the bathroom, proper medical equipment, and more vigilant attention to patients are only the beginning of a list of issues with a PRIVATE hospital in a major city. Imagine what it is like for a Ghanaian living in a remote village! This weekend really made me take a step back and be thankful for the life that I have been given. The health care that I have had access to my entire life is a privilege that many people in the world could never dream of. Hell, if any thing seriously happened to me, I would be med-evac'd out of the country immediately. The numbers of people who could use malaria medication, antiseptic, or even a good night's rest in a well sheltered home is astounding. Think about all of the children who still die from malaria, a disease that is easily treatable with cheap medication. Hopefully one day health care on this continent will reach an acceptable amount of people with an acceptable level of quality. Thinking about my situation in comparison to those in remote villages makes me a little sick inside (don't worry, not the bacteria/virus kind).

I am very fortunate and thank each and every one of you for your caring thoughts, prayers, and well wishes. No need to worry in the future--I am in much better care than the rest of the country (and NYU program!). I have RS's forceful words and SS's prayer groups behind my back.

Love to you all!

J

PS: Sammy's landlord woke up up on Thursday night to tell him that they had turned the water on! No bucket brigade needed (but definitely on stand by).

Sammy

Sammy is one of our drivers. He's the younger Sammy, not the older Sammy.

Sammy is one of the kindest human beings I have ever met in my life. If you called Sammy when he was off of work and you were in trouble, I'd put money on the fact that he'd find you and save you.

Sammy has two sons. Four and Six.

Sammy had a wife. She was killed in a car accident about a year ago.

Sammy works for NYU full time. Sammy can't keep his sons with him because Sammy has to leave his house at 4:30am to pick up Christa to take her to the gym, take us to our classes, and pick Christa up from the gym. Sammy doesn't get home til almost 1am.

In the villages they only turn the water taps on once every two weeks. This is to conserve water around Accra for the new development projects. Sammy is thankful that it comes so often--it used to be once a month. Twice a month he is able to fill up his water tanks with enough water to last him the entire two weeks.

Yesterday Sammy missed his water ration. Instead of turning the taps on between 6pm and 9am, the government turned the water on during the day--as Sammy has no one waiting for him at home, he was unable to fill up his tanks.

When Sammy got home at 1:30am yesterday, he found out that he would not have water. Sammy had to walk 1/2 mile to the tap and carry a 55kilo bucket of water home with him.

Since he is busy driving us places during the week, Sammy can't get water until Saturday morning. He will have to make at least 5 trips to the tap and back in order to have enough water to last him until next weekend.

Here on our lush compound in the richest part of Accra we have water daily. When we don't have water, NYU pays the water company to come in and fill up our tanks. We take 30 minute showers, sometimes twice a day. We let the water run in the sink. We don't turn off the water all the way when we leave for the day. We wash our undirty clothes daily. When we don't have water we complain until they bring the water truck in.

Tomorrow is Friday. On Fridays Sammy is told to take us to the supermarket at 2:30pm. Tomorrow at 2:30pm Sammy will be taking me and a few other people to his house and we will be getting him water in our NYU van. Tomorrow Sammy won't have to walk 1/2 mile back and forth and back and forth. Tomorrow I've rallied up the bucket brigade.

I'm really glad that there are people here that care.

A quest for food

Phew--orientation is finally over! Not....

The past week was a whirlwind of acclimating our minds, bodies, and lives to the city of Accra, the country of Ghana, and the continent of Africa. As we spent about 6 complete days doing so, one would expect us to have somewhat of an idea of what the next four months have in store for us, right?

That would be too easy.

Being the tired old person that I am, I have found that I am definitely the home body of the group. While all of these 18-20 year olds are ready to party hardy every night, I, in my decrepit old age of 21, am asleep by about...11:30. I am also the first to wake up--any where from 5am to 7am to practice yoga before the day begins. The one day I slept in until 7:30 and couldn't practice I had the misfortune to have the worst caffeine headache of my life. I was grumpy to the extreme and warned everyone I met that I was not pleasant. Bad things coming in pairs, that also happened to be the day that we had to make an emergency trip to the University of Ghana to register for classes, skipping lunch.

Yes, JS skipping lunch. I think you know me well enough to know that that hunger and lack of coffee+J is lethal.

When we were finally able to come home for a 15 minute pit stop before our trip to the US Ambassador's house I used that time to brew up a nice, delicious, hot cuppa Joe. I used a napkin and a strainer. Talk about resourceful! My mood changed considerably as my headache dissapated, and after chowing down on some digestive cookies (so good!) we headed over to the Ambassador's house where we, all 41 of us, devoured the "refreshments" that had been provided.

One of the CRAs (resident assistants), Julia, has already deemed me the foodie of the group. The University of Ghana had an introduction dinner, the Durbar, involving a free meal--the minute I heard food and free I was there. Julia tried to ban me from coming, but I snuck my way onto the bus and into the front of the food line :) Last night I tried to find my way over to the other housing facility using a "map" and my memory...another girl and I got a little lost, but finally on our last attempt before dark we found it. Once at Solomon's Lodge, Naa (another CRA) taught us how to make jolof and kelliwelli. Jolof is a rice dish containing various degrees of chilis, pepper, vegetables, tomatoes, ginger, and garlic--amazing! Kelliwelli is a dish of plantains, ginger, and red pepper powder, fried in a pan. Eating that meal made the entire trip worth it! When I get back to the States, I'll have to attempt to make it.

I have a feeling that the hardest thing to get used to in this country (slash the developing world) is shopping for groceries. There is a grocery store in Osu, but I haven't dared to step foot in it. Cereal is 12 bucks, laundry detergent in the 20s, and everything pretty much out of my realm, budget wise. The places to go here are open markets and street vendors. On Saturday we went to the open air market called Kaneshie. There are three levels (think a parking garage), each containing a different genre of supplies.

The outside and first floor is the area for food. These areas are FILLED with people selling various varieties of okra, garden eggs, eggs, ginger, garlic, chilis, etc. There is fresh ground nut paste (peanut butter) and different varieties of fruits. Oranges, tangerines, avocados, and grapefruits are green, even when ripe. I feel like a complete idiot, but I have no idea what any thing is. The fruit in the country is amazing. The mangos, papayas, pineapples (better than Hawaii), and watermelon are so incredible. So far I haven't had any allergic reactions--I can even eat apples here with skin!!

The second floor is filled with house supplies--shampoos, lotions, soap, detergent, etc. I'm not so sure about how much I like my shampoo or conditioner, nor do I think that it works. For future travel: bring your own shampoo and conditioner! Since the Ghanaian women have their hair braided, there is really no need for any of that nonsense. But for us white folk, brunis...hair braids would just look silly.

The top floor is (I think) for fabric, but I didn't venture up there on the last trip. I had my hands full of detergent, shampoo, and fruit.

Up the main road there is a place called Labone Coffee Shop. I don't think they serve real coffee (everything is Nescafe here!). But up the "coffee shop road" a ways there are some street vendors. I took a little trip up there with some people that I dragged along--I bought tomatoes, chilis, ginger, garlic, okra, garden eggs, chicken, oatmeal, soy sauce, and rice. I figure that I can throw it all together some how. While they may have charged me more than the locals, I purchased an entire bag of the vegetable items for 1cedi 20pesoe (the exchange rate is equivalent to the US...go Dollar!)--a pretty good deal in my opinion. Buying the chicken was quite interesting....it was 3c for a kilo. The girls selling the chicken couldn't have been older than 10--to cut a piece, she grabbed a machete and started hacking away. In the end, the chicken I bought was frozen so I'm not too worried. I'll definitely be cooking every thing thoroughly.

To clean vegetables, fruits, etc, you let them soak in water with a bit of salt for about five minutes. Who knew?

In the end, the grocery shopping trips to be made will sort them selves out. It's a good thing I shopped in Chinatown!

Classes begin today. So far I will be taking Community Psychology and the Internship Seminar at NYU, and Urban Sociology at Legon. I'm planning to audit Medical Geography at Legon also (it meets at 8:30am and I'd be leaving my home at about 7:45...doable, but it would have to be a very interesting course). I expect to intern for 15-20 hours for the West African Aids Foundation...things are still being sorted out as my professor did not arrive in the country until today. C'est la vie. I am trying to upload photos, but a) I'm a slacker at taking photos and b) our internet isn't ever around long enough to upload them. All in good time.

Greetings from Accra!

We finally have internet access! Yes, I did go through slight withdrawals.

Upon our arrival in Accra on Sunday evening, the telephone lines were down--no calls to the US, no internet. While it is still spotty and chooses to work whenever it wishes, I currently have access!

So a mumbojumbo of the details you never thought you needed to know...(let me know if you want to UNSUBSCRIBE ;))--this is not eloquent and written on sleep deprivation and caffeine withdrawals. Sue me.

The Flight (s):
Reno--SFO: pit stop in San Francisco with the lovely Aunty Lorraine and Randy to indulge on some delicious dim sum during my layover. You have no idea how glad I am that I did that--not only do they give you ONE meal on the flight, but the portion size is about that of a Lean Cuisine. Mind you this is an 11 hour flight to Frankfurt. I would have possibly died from starvation if it weren't for the quick thinking brilliance of Aunty Lorraine :)

SFO--Frankfurt: Altogether not as bad as expected. The people on the plane were strange--everyone was very standoffish and rude...not to JUDGE or anything, but I certainly did not have any desire to visit the country. I watched four movies, all of them bad, and slept for about 2 hours. I've already mentioned the lack of food.

Frankfurt--Lagos: Lufthansa is an interesting airline. The flight attendants actually wear hats, full uniforms, and are constantly smiling. It's sick! They also get extremely excited when they are about to serve the cocktails. Now, as a smart individual, I avoided such beverages as a flight dehydrates you enough as it is. The pasta on the flight was pretty good, but the portions were quite small yet again. This time I didn't have the dim sum to ride through with.... The airplane had ridiculous amounts of electrical glitches--I'm just going to assume it's because they refused to turn off the cabin lights for the entire flight....

Lagos--Accra: Well, the lovely flight crew didn't tell us ANYTHING about staying on the plane, EDT, etc, so we just sort of...looked confused. Flying into Lagos was the most amazing sight I have ever seen. I have never seen so many houses/shacks/living quarters in my life. It was a sea of corrugated metal and tires--there were people everywhere and the streets were layed out in this haphazard chaos. It was amazing! Flying into Accra, one could see the difference--while there was still a sea of houses, there was slightly more order in the streets. Additionally, there was a semi-clear ratio of paved roads to unpaved. When I got off the plane, we went through immigration, got our bags, and met up with NYU after customs--everything was surprisingly organized. When we rounded up everyone from the flight, we headed to our living quarters.

The House:
I live on a compound called Church Crescent. There are 2 sets of 2 houses--3 of girls, one of boys. There were only 6 boys in the entire program so they got their own house. My house has two rooms upstairs: a triple (mine) with a patio and a double with a patio. Downstairs there is a room of two girls, an extra bathroom, a large living/dining room, a kitchen (which was stocked with bread, cookies, juice, water, and groundnut butter) and a dirty little meeting room. If that room was clean, I would totally use it as a yoga room. But it's not.

My room consists of a bunk bed and a single. One of the roommates got there a few days ahead of time and had the single--she is a slightly larger African American girl that attends Spellman University in Georgia. So far she refuses to leave her room, eat anything that is not American, and talk to people. She stays in all the time and talks (quite loud) on her cell phone and/or to one of us in the middle of the night. I don't really know how I feel about that--her attitude is so negative, all I can think about is "Debbie Downer...." I suppose she's just adjusting. I do hope that she starts to emerge from her shell of negativity though...we can only encourage her so much before school starts and we're all bogged down with school, internships, and volunteering!
My other roommate is a junior at NYU --while at first I was a little nervous that she was going to be super high maintenance, she's turned out to be a pretty chill girl. She hasn't traveled much and is super cautious, but there are worse things in life. She is a nice, considerate person (so far) so we can only hope that nothing changes.
I don't have the best room mate track record.
The room is attached to a porch which I thought would be perfect for yoga until I realized that the properties on either side of my room have groundskeepers (with machetes) that can see up--I quickly found a new spot. Right outside of the kitchen is a perfect little J sized patio that is surrounded by enough walls/grass to me comfortable. As long as I go out there with my bug spray, I'm good to go! I have become that "token yoga girl" with my two mats and exercise ball. Unfortunately (or fortunately...) for me, the bad malaria bugs come out at night, forcing me to practice in the morning. Quite a change from my usual early evening practice, but I guess it's best to avoid malaria at all costs!

Accra:
The climate here is something I have never really experienced. It's super humid day and night, but in the shade it's almost cold. There are clouds in some parts of the sky and hot hot hot African sun in others. For a good part of the day the sun beats down upon you--talk about dripping in sweat. It threatens rain (it's the rainy season) daily but we have yet to experience a downpour. The majority of roads are dirt and the sewage system is wide open. GLORIOUS! Cars will hit you so you can't be day dreaming (too much).
The pace is quite different from NYC so everyone generally "strolls" along. I was thinking about purchasing a bike but was informed that the ride to the University of Legon was too dangerous/long--so I'll probably stick to my two feet. I do like walking.
The food here is quite delicious--everything is INSANELY spicy. Some of it too much: this is when you can pick the people with a palate from those without. The fruits and veggies are unbelievably fresh and I have yet to have an allergic reaction (touch wood). The street food looks and smells absolutely delicious--future care packages: Pepto Bismol tablets! (I'm semi-adventurous, leading to negative reactions....)
The people in this program are quite interesting--a lot of International kids, military brats, etc. There are only a few of us old seniors who are making a last gasp effort to get SOMETHING out of this institution, so our priorities are slightly different than the rest of the students, but all in all this is a good group of kids.
The Ghanaians are quite wonderful people. Always friendly, smiling, just wanting to say hi...the vendors are quite pushy and have perfected the "pout" more than me, but I'm not one to be fooled by such trickery! The kids are so cute with their "Good Afternoon!"s, staring at us like we are aliens. It's great.

Over the next few days there are SO many things to do. Register for classes at Legon, meet with the President of Ashesi, figure out what's going on with the internship program, begin classes, figure out the best routes, grocery shopping, etc etc etc. Of course NYU has packed our orientation week from 7am til 9pm leaving very little time to stock any thing in our apartments.

Oh yea, and I need a coffee maker. My caffeine withdrawals are completely insane. I have found a not so small group of people in the same boat, so tomorrow the hunt is on!

So this is it so far. My first impression of the city is nothing but wonderful--in fact, the only down side is that I feel far more comfortable than I would have liked. I suppose my mother will appreciate that :) I have high hopes for the next four months and hope that this experience is as enriching as it can be. I do apologize to all of you that I promised to keep in contact with after NYC--for such an internet addict, I am absolutely terrible at remembering to return e-mails. I wish you all well in the world! Keep in touch (I'll try try TRY to be better--blame the faulty internet connection!)!! Hopefully my future emails a) exist and b) are not filled with so many monotonous details. I'll be sure to forward along some stories :)

Non harming

I'm in a battle with logic and reason.

Who and/or what decides what can or cannot be done?
Who can tell me why?
Who am I to say no, yes, maybe?
Who am I to decide?
Should this battle be fought?
Or has it already been won?

Is there a purpose for contorting my brain
More than I contort my body?
Should both be left alone in a sedentary manner
Or is contortion the key to the battle?
Is the pain of unknowing the price of the fight
Or a failure of acting non-harming?

I think the answer is in yourself
What you really want
versus what you want yourself to want.
When that question is answered
the battle will have been won.
But first
you have to practice non-harming.

Blood Pressure Tests are wonky

First of all, how is 120 for systolic considered "prehypertension?" That's crap.
Second, why is one test at 120/69, the next (1 minute later) 111/63. I'm so confused.

My resting pulse has increased about 15 points since I moved to Reno. That's slightly disheartening. I really miss walking.

As the time ticks away towards Ghana, my schedule is more full than ever! Between work, Seattle, camping, and various different tests, I am booked.

Slightly bone chilling prospect: If my blood tests come through as a match, I may be back in Reno next summer. Bachelor's and all.

Sometimes I love freaking myself out with such prospects. As much as I love knowing exactly what's on my plate, I love the idea of not knowing ANYTHING even more :)

communication craze

I'm slightly neurotic.

I mentally plan out my days and when it gets really bad, I use the trusty ol dayplanner.

Now, I consider myself a fairly independent woman. When decisions are made for me, I'm bothered.

More than bothered. I turn into the hulk. My mental dayplanner goes up in arms and my stress levels border on insanity. In fact, I feel sorry for anyone who happens to step in my path (eh hem, mom and dad).

How do I fix this?

Communication. I suppose I should try expressing my feelings rather than keeping them inside to fester until they explode.

A new goal for the summer--work on communication skills.

I saw Iron Man and Get Smart--both pretty good! I mean, they kept me entertained--ultimately, that's all that matters, right?

my dayplanner on shuffle

Summer goals:
a) fix a car
b) bend backward and grab my ankles
c) enhance my spirituality
d) take some time for myself
e) focus on my family

What I've been doing:
-volunteering at a mechanics
-Mysore and Power yoga daily
-riding my bike as much as possible
-putting family first
-job hunting
-reevaluating my morals and ethics
-got a job at the Chocolate Bar
-practicing football and being a quarterback
-trying to find a balance between reason and feelings
-playing mom
-not sleeping well
-attending meetings with the Director of Community Health at Saint Mary's
-realizing that first comes self, second comes family, third comes community, fourth comes nation, fifth comes world...
-converting people to love Plumpy'nut!!!

I think I still have a lot of work to do. But it's been an interesting journey thus far :)

TBFFs

Transcontinental Best Friends Forever.

Unemployment in the desert.

So I have been in the desert for almost two weeks--I did take a weekend trip up to the marshlands of Oregon, but other than that, it's been RenoRenoReno!

I am also unemployed. Of course, the job market in Reno is a disaster and no one really needs to be paying another person.

I spend my days bike riding, reading, sipping coffee through a straw, google-ing, blogging, and yoga-ing. All in all, I haven't had this much downtime in over nine months. I also haven't felt this happy in quite awhile. I am spending a lot of time on myself, making choices to make ME happy, and altogether being selfish. Which is quite alright.

I kickstarted my Mysore practice--amongst the bruises and frustration, it's incredibly educational. I am learning self discipline, patience, and breathing--concepts, right? Let's just say that arnica is currently my best friend.

With a charity football game coming up in July, I've been practicing a little bit with Sara and Emily...at least we are learning to catch and throw the football...much harder than it looks!

Gas prices are about $4.15 a gallon and climbing. Being unemployed and all, I can't really afford gas...so I'm biking! It's a good thing, promise.

I will be working with a mechanic a few times a week this summer to learn how to fix cars...anything to get me into MSF!!! I just want to go into the field NOW! Why does age, education, and experience have to weigh me down?

On another note, I researched the adoption policies for China. While I can't adopt a child as a single parent, I don't have to be 35 (phew!)--they changed it to 30-55. This has brightened my spirits immensely. While I do have to concede to marriage, I am no longer pressured to be married by the age of 30. YES!

There is really not too much going on in my life at this moment in time. I haven't been this lazy or bumlike in quite awhile, and I'm soaking it up as much as I can while it lasts. It will get old fast, but my day planner only has ONE thing per day versus 7. :)

...enjoy the sun.

packing and moving

Twenty years ago, a lovely couple from Nevada decided to up and move to the continent/country/island of Australia. With them went their one year old daughter and unborn son.

Fast forward to the constant packing and moving the little girl endured. Luckily for her, she got to watch her mom carefully wrap the glasses and tape up the boxes, only to be untaped and unwrapped in the next house/country/continent.

Fast forward to the day the little girl graduated high school. Too old to have her parents pack for her, the girl was forced to endure the difficulty of packing. She would slowly find out that there was an art to it that she did not quite possess. And still did not possess in New York, Madrid, or Nevada.

After routinely packing and moving for twenty one years, the girl sits in her little Brooklyn apartment amidst boxes and bags of stuff. STUFF. By this point, she has learned the art of using every spare space in the box, but has adopted an unfortunate habit--nesting. Somehow she has accumulated a full kitchen including (but not limited to) pots, pans, knives, chopping boards, plates, glasses, wine glasses, woks, a rice cooker, coffee maker, tea kettle, toaster oven, and microwave. She has also accumulated a mattress, bedding, and miscellaneous numbers of shoes.

While there is still much to learn about packing, she now believes that she needs to learn how to not accumulate STUFF. Because...in the words of her mother..."you can't take it with you!"

Water--necessity or luxury?

So. I study international affairs (more or less). A very large part of the study of international affairs is the act of distinguishing between human right and private property. Under heavy dispute: pharmaceutical license, shelter, R2P (right to protection), and water. That's right, water.

That stuff that flows freely from your tap. The sometimes murky/textured liquid that we throw into our Brita filters. The stuff that we are told to drink at least 8 times per day....

Who would think twice?

Water is a basic necessity to survive. A human can't last for long without a drop of water. That's just biology. But then you put a price on it, and all bets are off. I readily admit that I have no knowledge on domestic affairs. International, I am educated enough to have an opinion on most matters...but domestic? Y'all trump me on that one. But there is a difference between ignorance and not researching--I am happy to say that I am not an ignorant person. I noticed when my grandmother was told to sell her water rights and install a water meter. I noticed when my parents screamed over exorbitant water bills. I noticed when neighborhoods were given watering days for lawns. I noticed when a neighbor's water was flowing down the street....So I have noticed that water is not a little issue.

In the Global South, access to water is a luxury. When a tap is available, there are thousands of residents who use it. When a tap is unavailable, populations of people drink from unsanitary water sources--the same sources they place their laundry, waste, and excrement. A high percentage of the world's population is dying from water borne diseases and infections--easily preventable through access to clean water and a bit of education. Today, hundreds of NGOs are working with water and sanitation, trying their darndest to provide access to a clean and reliable source to life's basic necessity.

Then you have the towns that don't own their water rights. Cochabamba in Bolivia auctioned off water rights to Aguas del Tunari. Long story short, the residents were unable to afford water and were prevented from accessing it. My question is: who has the right to prevent another human being from accessing water? Did you make the water? Did you make water a necessity to sustain life? No. No. NO! Sure, you purchased the right to distribute the water, but you can not purchase the water. Water is from nature and when the residents of Cochabamba exclaim that you are "Leasing the Rain," they are 100% correct.

Watch the video. It will make you cringe.

But this is the developing world. They are developing. This is what's supposed to happen. In America, we so don't have that problem. We're, like, totally developed.

Ha.

As the NYC Water Council announces a 14.5% hike in water prices...in comparison, these prices (per month!) are a year's salary to the majority of the world's population. I mean, shoot. The prices per month are my monthly paycheck. Rent has already gone up to an unreasonable extent, electricity is both unreliable and expensive, and now water? I think we humans are being priced out of the world.

So. Human right? Or Private Property?

Another year...

University is slowly passing me by. As bills pile up, tuition increases, and my ever changing course of study begins to narrow itself down, I think to myself...why? The answer? Human capital. Somehow we, the people of this lovely country, have been conned into believing that the longer we go to school, the more letters we can append to our name, and the greater the investment into this educational endeavor, the more capital we will have when we enter the "real world."

Democracy, eh?

I gradually buy into this theory--I'm enrolled in a BA/MPA program for goodness sakes. These days, you need a Masters for entry level jobs in the USofA. My yearly tuition is more than my expected salary. Joy.

Despite this great American con, I do need to stop myself daily to think that somehow, I was given parents who see the bills, take a deep breath, have a shot of Jack, and write the check. That's love right there folks. As the tuition increase raises to 6% for next semester and I jet set to Africa, Lord only knows how much love it takes to painfully put a John Hancock on the e-check.

John Sexton--you had better be enjoying those (PLURAL!!!) penthouse Manhattan apartments...for all of us.