The Center of The World

Considering in about an hour I will be docking in Salvador, I should probably recap at least something from Ghana before I get to Brazil! These 6 days at sea have really been packed with schoolwork and projects, and trying to soak up the most from our days, since I hate to say it, but we only have fifteen left.

On April 11 (forever ago, right?) we docked in Ghana. We all thought we would be in Accra, the capital city, but the main harbor is in the industrial sister city, Tema. So Semester at Sea arranged for a (shoddy) shuttle system to go back and forth on the hour. This was the first port city I have been to so far where I was more curious about what I would see than I was excited. I had watched The Lion King the night before, and of course I knew Accra wouldn’t look like that. But what would it look like?

Apparently, it looks like almost every other small-scale city I have been to so far! There were a few main streets connecting the major sites, along which street vendors crowded the sidewalks. The streets were dusty and the buildings in “downtown” didn’t rise above two stories. Cars and taxis weaved through the lanes, but much more tamely than I’ve seen in Shanghai or Chennai. I would say the only major difference between Accra and say, Ho Chi Minh City, was that 90% of the people in Accra we carrying things on their heads! I wasn’t surprised that people did it- I was more shocked by the sheer weight of the things they carried. You name it, they balanced it: bowls of fruit, baskets of flip-flops, trays of jewelry or snacks, chairs, groceries!

Even though I was only in Ghana for a short four days, I think I really maximized my time by seeing all of central Accra, the Castles and Slave Dungeons in Cape Coast, the OSU Children’s orphanage, and the Makola Market. I think my experience in the market was my most “real” day, spending time with local vendors rather than reading plaques on the sides of buildings. I found my way into the heart of the market, where tourists rarely venture into. Through 2 foot wide pathways, I weaved through the maze of stalls selling spoons, cd’s, and dresses, until I reached the fabric section. Stall after stall was covered with yards of brightly printed fabrics, and I couldn’t help but stop to look at the patterns. As soon as I paused for a moment there, a woman popped out of nowhere, from her resting place under the cool fabrics. After lots of back and forth, I agreed to buy 2 yards of fabric to have a skirt made. Behind me, a row of seamstresses sat at their sewing machines, deftly creating traditional skirt and top outfits. The women said to come back at 2:30 to pick up my finished garment.

I tried to find my way out of the market by a different route than I used coming in. Big mistake! I managed to get completely lost in the food section of the market, when all I wanted was to find my way out! In no real hurry, I passed stalls of spices, dried tilapia, live crabs, pigs’ feet, corn, and flour. It smelled… interesting. All the while, I had to constantly step aside so girls with 50 pounds of fruit or fish or soda on her head could squeeze by me in the tiny corridor.

Eventually, with a little (a lot) of help, I found a main street. Along every street in Accra, between the pavement and the sidewalk, runs an open sewer of varying depth. Concrete planks connect the two surfaces to avoid any, say, accidents. As I was walking down the street with my friend, we were approached by a man selling big African-print shirts. I decided to play the bargaining game (yay for getting one for $6 instead of $25!) and as I stepped forward to choose a shirt from his selection, FWOOM. My right leg had sunken 18 inches into the grimiest sewer I had seen the entire trip. The trash and muck kept me down like quicksand as the shirt-man and my traveling buddy tried to yank me out of the depths. I was too grossed out to cry, so of course, I laughed. As did the other 30 people on the street who got a week’s worth of amusement out of my fall! (Always happy to help.) Lucky for me, a woman selling sodas about 10 feet away came to my rescue with a bucket of water and she generously helped me wash my leg, foot, and shoe. She then gladly took a photo with me.

So that’s my sewer story. Don’t try this at home. I suppose that’s why the sewers in the US are generally actually underground. I found my way back to my seamstresses and chaatted while they finished my skirt. Foustina, the woman who sold me the fabric, and her 18 year old daughter, Priscilla, on holiday from school, were especially friendly and hospitable, as 2:30 turned into 3:30, into 4:30. When my skirt was finally finished I couldn’t have been more satisfied. It looks just like the ones they wear there! I will gladly model when I come home.

Now, onto Brasil!

Kaapstaad, South Africa, aka Cape Town

There is so much to say about my 5 days in Cape Town that I honestly do not know where to begin. I’ll start with some observations.

1)      For the first time in ten weeks, being white didn’t automatically give away my foreign-ness

2)      For the first time in two months I shopped in an honest-to-goodness supermarket

3)      The weather was sunny, breezy, and 70 degrees no matter what. (Breeze is an understatement… this was WIND)

4)      Xhosa has 3 different clicking sounds and I still haven’t a clue how to make a single one of them

5)      Table Mountain gives Cape Town the most incredible skyline I have ever seen. Google it!

 

During my all too short stay in South Africa, I was able to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, attend the International Jazz Festival, spend a day tasting wine in wine country, see the Big 5 on a safari,  and not hike Table Mountain (due to THE WIND. Which also stalled our departure for oh, 21 hours? Hah.) Out of all of these incredible activities, I think the one most worth while blogging about is my day spent in the townships volunteering with Habitat for Humanity.

 

I worked with the organization once before, on a USY mission to New Orleans after my junior year in high school. What a different experience this was. As we drove out of the bright, clean, and colonial style downtown, the homes lining the highway got progressively more impoverished. The townships sprung up in the distance like I expect the dandelions are doing right now in your front yard. Shack homes made from nailed together scrap metal and wood balanced precariously on their soil foundations. These shacks weren’t just sporadically placed in the horizon- hundreds of thousands of sheds formed a sprawling suburbia like I’ve never seen before.

 

After about twenty minutes, we entered the township in which Habitat is currently building houses. We were pretty obvious in our big coach bus, taking up the entire width of the neighborhood roads. As we drove through, children in the streets stared at us through our tinted windows, and when I waved at them, the biggest smiles I have ever seen broke upon their faces. We soon reached to construction site, and were mobbed by the most adorable children… and when I say mobbed I mean they were grabbing our hands and feet, climbing on our backs, our waists. It was the most arduous fifteen paces I have ever walked!

 

We were shown the ropes by a few Habitat workers, given hard hats, and split up into groups- the inside, outside, and roof. We worked together to set up scaffolding, finish the roof, clean up rubble, mix concrete, and finish laying the cinderblocks to form the exterior of the house. Unfortunately, the construction site was severely under supplied. For the twenty of us there was one set of scaffolding, two hammers, four shovels, and no ladders or work gloves. We did the best we could to either be productive, or stay out of the way.

 

After about four hours, we took a lunch break and took a walk around the township. Hair salons, public phones, and general stores were set up in trailers along the street. Little kids yelled out a word at us, which we were later told meant “white,” while they followed us around. When we returned to our building site, the kids all started singing and dancing, and I joined them along with a few other students. They taught us their songs, and we sang things like “Ring around the Rosy” and “Hakuna Matata” which they happily sang and danced along to. One boy latched on to me for the rest of the afternoon, wearing my hard hat and playing clapping games with me as other little boys vied for my attention. At one point, 6 of them broke into dance, doing the best Michael Jackson impression I’ve ever seen. Most of the kids didn’t speak a word of English, but I was able to ask one eleven year old girl what she wanted to be when she grows up. She said to me, “Miley Cyrus.” It made me wonder… does Miley Cyrus know that when she sings “Party in the USA,” little kids in townships in South Africa want to be just like her? Because I still can’t even really wrap my head around that.

 

Around 4 o’clock, we cleaned up for the day, and were given the honor of personally dedicating the partially built house to its future owner. After seven years of moving up a waiting list, his house is finally in the making, and as a carpenter, he is making his own door. So there was no need to hand over the keys! Between the children, the workers, and this wonderful man whose house will soon become his home, my entire day was filled with unforgettable experiences, highlighted by bright smiles which I will treasure forever. 

Cabin 2014

What you are about to read is something I just wrote down in my journal about 10 minutes ago. It is pure emotion and I have no idea if it makes any sense, but if you were wondering what was going through my head at 0023 hours on April 8, 2010, read on.

I still need to write about my time in Cape Town, but in the mean time, it is the third day of shipboard life between South Africa and Ghana. Yesterday I had no class and felt like spending the day in my room. I had Kelli in there with me most of the day, but I really had no desire to go out and “be” with people. I had forgotten how easy it is to have privacy at Pitt or at home, but on the ship you are always running into someone to talk to. I usually love that, but I needed a day off. So I slept in, watched TV and movies, read a lot of my book, and only ventured out of my room for a 20 minute lunch and a hot dog at 10 pm. It was much needed down time.

Today was back to normal- I ate all 3 meals in the dining hall, went to my 3 classes, even studied for my quiz in public, and went to the film festival put on by the students in the evening. Which was mostly really good. I wish I could put my observations and thoughts and experiences into videos like those—I really wish I could present my ideas in that format. It’s such an effective way to say and literally show so much in only 3 minutes. But my mind just doesn’t work that way.

Right now, I’m really missing my friends from home and school. Everyone on the ship is so incredible, but I wish everyone I care about was here with me going through everything. Mostly because they all deserve it just as much as I do, but also because I know telling people about the things I’ve done and showing pictures will never do any of it justice. And that legitimately makes me sad.

Some of the things I’m feeling feel so profound that I can’t bear to feel them without my best friends of mother or sister feeling them right there beside me. I’m scared to go back home because I know in reality, there is no going back. I will go home but it won’t look like the same home I left in January: I won’t see it through the same lens. I know that isn’t a bad thing and that whatever has changed inside of me is for the better, but a part of me is sad that I never got to say a proper goodbye to that part of my life- the part of me that was so wrapped up in my own little microcosm. I never formally parted with the side of me which didn’t know or understand the other parts of the world.

I know that spending five days in a culture doesn’t allow me to understand it, but that’s all I’ve got and I’m doing the best that I can. I know that when I go home, people will ask me how I’ve changed and I don’t know what I can say to them. How do I tell people about random strangers welcoming me into the intimate details of their lives? Showing me where they eat and telling me where their families are? How do I convey the inescapable and overwhelming atmosphere of a foreign culture which is foreign only to me because I am the one who does not belong? How do I tell people about the warmth and sunshine which radiates from a child’s smile while he jumps and climbs on me with pure love and joy, even though we cannot pronounce each other’s names?

On days like these I cannot seem to wrap my head around the things I am going through or these so-called changes which are happening inside of me. I can’t understand how I can live and sleep and breathe on this ship as my friends and I complain about annoying people or the disorganized activities office, while we are being transported around the world and then dropped off in a country and told, “Go. See. Learn.” How do I do it??

I think I’m doing a good job so far, but is a “good job” good enough? There is still so much of this earth for me to explore and know and learn from and try my best to make an impact on, and I’m drowning in the inevitable reality that I just can’t do it all. I can’t understand how the world is changing me, and I can’t understand how I am to change the world. But I suppose with four weeks left and only two more countries to go, the best I can do is to try: try to soak up as much as I can, try to leave as much of a mark as I can, and try my hardest to keep my promises that I will come back- for longer next time- to stay and really get to know the people and their lives.

As I write, my eyes are tearing up, but they aren’t tears of sadness, I don’t think they are tears of overwhelming, I believe they are tears of happiness. I am so remarkably happy to be able to go around this planet of ours and step into other’s lives even for just a second, and with just that second, have all of humanity be confirmed to me. This world is FULL of people—all with stories and backgrounds and futures and problems and celebrations—and no matter how much we try to distance ourselves from one another, we are all in the Life together. I never want a single on of these people to leave my Life.

Maybe that is what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of going home and simplifying my experiences down to one paragraph and diminishing people back down to the statistics they started out as. I’m afraid of these people ever leaving my life… because I know it is impossible to hold on to each one of them forever. And all I want to do is to hold on. Hold on tight and never, ever, let go.