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?