"If you build it, they will come."

Baseball is one of my favorite sports. I never played organized ball growing up (my town was evenly split between soccer, football and baseball, and I went soccer), but many of my friends did, and it was not uncommon to walk around the green, palm-tree-fringed parks of Port Charlotte tuning in to the characteristic 'twang' of aluminum on horsehide.

I am not ashamed to say that I am a Yankees fan. I was born in New York and grew up in Florida, but my sports-formative years were spent following the mid- to late-90s Yankees of O'Neill, Williams, Jeter, Girardi, Cone and Pettitte. Many a September and October homework assignment was put off to follow these athletic greats, this dynasty of dynasties, so steeped in history. In Tampa, which is two hours' drive from my town, the Yankees spring facility is Legends Field. And legends do roam, just like at Monument Park in New York.

In Ghana, baseball is something many people have not heard of or played. It is a game of anticipation. A thinker's game. A game that can change with the crack of a bat, an outstretched finger gracing home just under a catcher's desperate mitt. A perfect game was just thrown in Chicago. The perfect game--27 up, 27 down--is one of the greatest feats in all of sports. More men have orbited the moon than have thrown a perfect game. But as exciting as that is, in reality a perfect game is really boring, as nothing basically happens--until the 8th or 9th inning, when the anticipation climaxes. If you never see a perfect game in real life, then watch Kevin Costner's For Love of the Game, one of my favorite movies.

Second-hand gloves and balls used in the pickup softball game, shipped in from the US. Shot with D60, 35/1.8 (1/2000). All photos set with aperture priority.

Ghana probably won't see a perfect game for a while. There are few fields, and the equipment is less than perfect. But a colleague and good friend of mine is working to change that. He works with an NGO that's looking to bring baseball to Ghana, particularly for schoolchildren, but also for young adults who might have the talent to play in the US. Yesterday, I was privileged with the rare opportunity to photograph a pickup softball game with the NGO that my friend works with. I consider myself a portrait photographer, which is why I use a 35/1.8, so I knew doing sports photography would be a bit of a challenge without a zoom lens (though I'm now strongly considering adding a 55-200). But there were some great shots, and the lens is incredibly fast. Someone asked at the end of the game if I were an official photographer with the embassy. Maybe if political science doesn't work out.

Warming up with some catch. 35/2.8 (1/800).

For many years in Port Charlotte, we hosted the minor-league affiliate of the Texas Rangers. Many summer days were spent on the bleachers of our 4,000-seat "stadium", eating hot dogs (load on the ketchup, mustard and relish), cracking open peanuts, chasing down foul balls. It was no House that Ruth built (there's a giant Taco Bell sign beyond the outfield wall that, if hit, would garner everyone in the park free taco coupons), but the dirt was well maintained, the uniforms were still crisp, the bat boys/girls ever vigilant.

Perfecting the toss. 35/2.8 (1/1000).

Yesterday we played on a much-weeded-over, half grass, half dirt, soccer pitch. Ground balls took bounces that would defy Newton and the base bags moved within an unspecified margin of error whenever tagged, adding yet another degree of complexity. I wasn't sure what to expect. I know Ghanaians go absolutely crazy for football (soccer), and know everything about strategy, fitness and abilities for all their favorite Ghanaian and Premiership clubs. They also play a lot of it, and tend to be really fit on the pitch. I half-expected these guys, who must have been 18-24, to not be too in to baseball and not really know what they were doing.

Rounding first. 35/2.8 (1/200).

In Port Charlotte, baseball games are like those in the rest of America: fans chant, tease the pitcher, batter, base runners, umpires, maybe the pitcher again, all out have a good time. Players, especially, join in in the heckling and encourage their teammates. It's all in the spirit of the game, a game slowed down by the weight of a pitcher's deliberation, his anticipation, his delivery, a spirit that differs (though it still exists) in faster-paced sports like soccer.

The Catcher. 35/1.8 (1/1600).

These Ghanaians had the spirit of the game down. In Twi and English. I'm not sure what the Twi phrases were, but they sounded suspiciously close to "hey batter, batter", "swing batter, batter" and "we want a pitcher, not a belly itcher". Players on-deck took on the dual roles of first-base- and third-base- coach, waving home runners and whispering "left, left" or "right, right" to batters when defensive gaps opened up. There were cheers. There were fist pumps. There were moments of agony.

The Home Run. 35/1.8 (1/2500).

Even at our Florida State League minor-league games, we had umpires to keep track of the game. Our umpire at this game was a small board sitting behind the plate that recorded a hollow "fwomp-fwomp" when hit by the parabolically tossed, slow-pitch softball. Strike. No radar cameras here. In this game, hits abounded, and given the nature of the soccer field, ground-rule doubles and actual out-of-the-park home runs provided an endless source of excitement. The game was high scoring, something like 24-21, and there were many clutch fielding plays, including a few well turned double plays and snow-cone catches.

The Umpire. 35/1.8 (1/400).

Peter, featured above in "The Home Run", is one of the leaders of the baseball NGO. He is 26, and showed great batting and fielding talent yesterday, including effortlessly hitting home runs (300+ feet lengthwise across the soccer field). He briefly tried out for the Florida Marlins, and currently coaches Ghanaian kids in baseball on Saturday mornings. Working with his contacts in the US, he is able to ship over equipment like bats, gloves, balls and base bags, and it sounds like the kids have an amazing time with it all. In future posts, I plan to photograph and write about the kids' aspect of his NGO and even include an interview with Peter himself. He envisions bringing kids together all over Ghana to play baseball.

David, at the point of impact. 35/1.8 (1/2500).

One of the reasons why I like the Yankees so much is that, more than any other team in baseball, they are the team most strongly intertwined with 20th-century American history and pop culture. They are a team that goes beyond baseball. There is something timeless about those pin stripes. The effortlessness of Joe DiMaggio. The intrigue. Marilyn Monroe. The rivalries: Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris. The heartbreak: Lou Gehrig, the Pride of the Yankees. The humanity: Don Larsen, the imperfect man who threw the only perfect game in the post-season, which just happened to be in the World Series. And, above all, the American-ness of it. The cool, clean-shaven, effortless dynasty. The pressure of New York, the Broadway lights and fickle media and fans, the pressure to succeed. Yes, there is deserved criticism of the Yankees' business and talent-cultivation practices today. That I do not deny, and I agree with some of that criticism. But you can't take away the history.

The girls at catch. 35/1.8 (1/500).

Even with all that history, baseball in the US is tarnished. The drugs, the corporate-ness of it all have really taken away what the game used to be. Soccer, too, is starting to take that turn, something that many Ghanaians seem to be quite concerned about. Stars are now becoming idols of themselves, which may not be the best role models for children. But baseball in Ghana has the chance to start fresh. To give kids something they have never experienced, and to above all just let them have fun.

The Celebration. 35/1.8 (1/100).

This baseball NGO is still in its beginning stages, and there appears to be much government bureaucracy that needs to be navigated. But Peter and David are working tirelessly on this project, and I will follow their progress while I am here in Ghana. So do expect more photos and stories on this blog. If you are interested in helping this NGO out or want to find out more, please let me know in the comments, and I will put you in touch with the relevant people.

The Boys of Summer. 35/1.8 (1/1250).

Or heads will roll

The BBC reports today that the Dutch have handed over the formaldehyde-preserved head of an Ahanta (one of Ghana's Akan ethnic groups) king, who was executed in 1830 by Dutch colonists for the murder of two Dutch officials, to representatives of the Ahanta group. Apparently it was just calmly sitting--for 170 years--in a glass jar filled with formaldehyde at the Leiden University Medical Centre.

Here's a snippet from the article:

Several Ghanaian traditional leaders - including a descendant of the king - held an emotional ritual during the handover at the Dutch foreign ministry.

AFP news agency reported that they poured alcohol on the floor of the conference room while invoking the chief's spirit.

The Dutch guy in the BBC picture is looking a bit squeamish; I'm hoping he's not opening the jar. As a side note, I think I've been in that room in the Dutch Foreign Ministry. Luckily, though, there were no formaldehyde-preserved heads or other oddities on the occasion of that visit.

We'll see how the Ghanaian media covers the return of the head to Ghana. I'm sure there will be some priceless headlines tomorrow.

"If your name is written in heaven, it will also be known in hell."

So was I informed by a wooden sign at Mt Gemi, near Amedzofe, Volta Region, Ghana.

This past weekend, a group of us traveled to Ho (yes, that is the name of the city), capital of the Volta Region in Eastern Ghana, close by the Togo border. Last year, one of my biggest regrets was not travelling to Volta, which is reputed to be the most beautiful and friendliest of Ghana's regions. This past weekend did not disappoint. The people, who primarily spoke Ewe, were indeed very friendly, and always said "welcome" whenever they saw us "yavoos" (the equivalent of "obruni"). Some key Ewe phrases I picked up:

Ndi : good morning
Ndo : good afternoon
Eh foa? : how are you doing? (resp. "Eh". Simple enough)
Akpe : thank you

Volta, as the pictures below will demonstrate, is the land of lush rolling hills covered in greenery. Ho is also higher up in elevation than Accra, so the evenings were significantly cooler and more pleasant. But before we get to the pictures, we need to have a history lesson.

Volta was originally under the colonial control of German Togoland until 1914, when the British and the French, apparently having a disagreement with the Germans, happened to find some of their forces meandering into Togoland and conveniently dividing it into present-day Volta and French-speaking Togo. Even today, there were some fine examples of German colonial architecture in Ho, especially around the Evangelical Presbyterian guesthouse that we were staying at. Quite a few German cemeteries, as well.

Today, Volta is a vibrant place, though rather untravelled by tourists. One thing Volta is known for, according to the Bradt Guide and our experiences this past weekend, is community development projects, specifically targetted at preserving the land's beauty and attracting tourists. The two mountains we visited both had community-based tourist boards with certified guides, and these developments were often partnerships with the Peace Corps, USAID or the EU. It also appears--and this is related to our actual research work--that Volta is quite conducive to cooperative formation, particularly with respect to credit unions. Definitely saw a bunch of those in Ho. Would be interesting to figure out why that is the case. As a side note, one of the credit unions in Ho was called Morkporkpor. In Ewe, according to our field book, k's before p's are typically silent. I don't know how I'd feel being in a credit union that sounded like "more poor poor".

Anyways, the pictures. All are done with my 35/1.8. (RSS, email and facebook subscribers, these photos may not show up for you.)

Saturday was spent about 35km north of Ho at a town called Amedzofe in the Avatime Hills, one of the most pristine areas in Ghana. Our specific objective: to climb Mount Gemi, one of the tallest in Ghana (okay, so it's only 800m. And we drove halfway--ergh, two-thirds--of the way up there. it was still cool). Mount Gemi is unique for two reasons. First, its top is almost completely devoid of tree cover. Now it's not high enough to really have a tree line, but for some reason this mountaintop is covered with rolling green grass and jutting rocks--basically out of the Scottish highlands or something. And, secondly, German missionaries in the 1910s constructed a 4m-tall metal cross at the top of the mountain that you can see from really far away. Furthermore, the Brits installed a radio transmitter in that tower just before World War II. Sweet. We even saw the cable for it in the cross!

Arriving at the Avatime Hills in one of the rockiest cab rides of my life.

A couple guys playing checkers by the community tourist board.

One of the many lovely flowers at Mt Gemi, close in.

With Noah, (Chairman Mau)ricio and our guide, Sanctified. Yes, his name was Sanctified. Cool stuff.

Okay, guys, look dramatically contemplative, preferably near the top of a mountain. Good.

Putting the top in perspective.

I do admit that this whole hiking process had the feeling of a crucifixion, for some reason.

A great shot. That is, before thunderbolts started raining down from the heavens.

Yes, that is a sheer drop right behind us. Amazing view of the surrounding towns from up there.

And you might have thought I was lying about this sign.

Today, Sunday, we were a bit puzzled regarding what to do as most of Ghana tends to shut down on Sunday to attend church. However, acting up on a friend's recommendation (thanks, Frank!), we decided to journey south to Adaklu, which, is an isolated mountain that dominates Ho's southern skyline. There are no other mountains around it, but it just juts out of the plain. It is surrounded by 40 or so small villages, of which Helekpe is the main one. To get to Helekpe, we rented out a cab, with a driver named Selassie, that we picked up in Ho. Let's just say he might have gotten more than he bargained for.

Now the Bradt guide reports that the hike up Adaklu is a "reasonably demanding" 2-4 hours. Not too bad, right? I mean, I was in Boy Scouts all through middle and high school, and have done my fair share of 20-mile-a-day, several-day hikes with 40lb packs, so how hard could this be? Well, I should also mention that I grew up in Florida, where the biggest incline might be stepping into the van that takes you to the trailhead. Oh yes, let's just say that today was the day where I found out that squats are a good thing to do. Our driver, who decided to tag along with us up the mountain (he was really cool), also started to feel the burn, though he was very helpful in making sure that none of us fell while moving/rappelling down the rocky, slipper inclines.

Anyways, we hired a local guide from the community eco-tourist office, and were on our way. Of course, there was a bit of bureaucracy once we got to the base of the mountain. The tourism officer up there at first wouldn't let us pass because we didn't have receipts that showed that we paid at the bottom village. But the office was locked because it was Sunday, so our guide held on to the money. Eventually we got enough of the local population on our side--including a possibly drunken man who kept blessing us--that the officer let us go ahead. He even gave us bananas once we got down from the mountain, when we are all really exhausted. Best bananas ever.

The Stars and Stripes were proudly displayed in Selassie's cab.

Adaklu.

Adaklu, from a little closer in.

On our way. Already feeling the burn.


Taking a breather as our guide negotiates with the tourism officer.

What a view.

One of the local kids, Christian, using the rope to get up a slippery rock face. I was next.

Me, taking a breather.

Noah, as king of the world.

Mau. Some say he has a resemblance to Jesus. I'll let you be the judge.

Climbing skill, right there.
Here we are with Selassie. Such an amazing view.

Noah, using the rope on the way down.

On the way back to Accra, we saw this truck broken down. Right at the toll booth of a two-lane bridge crossing the Volta River into Volta Region. Probably the single worst place for a breakdown in all of Ghana.

After all that hiking I'm definitely a bit tired and sore. For dinner, Noah and I each had our own large pizzas (two for one special at the Paloma Restaurant). It was glorious.

I'll go and come

That, right there, is one of the most versatile phrases in Ghanaian English. And tonight we saw it used to its fullest extent.

Basically, "I'll go and come" is equivalent to US English's "I'll be back" or "I'll see you later." However, it is a very commonly used phrase, almost to the extent of "dude", as in the following, classic Bud Light commercial. (Email and RSS subscribers, this clip might not show up for you.)



Tonight we all decided to go to the Coconut Grove Regency Resort in Accra for a night of salsa dancing and drinks. Fun times. Of course, as so often happens with our group, there were five of us going, and cabs in Accra only (barely) fit four people. Drivers will attempt to charge a higher price when they have to take on excess passengers, as there are often Ghana Police Service checkpoints at night to make sure no cabs are breaking the law.

In any case, we've been here awhile, and we negotiate a reasonable price with the driver (six cedis to Sankara Overpass--maybe 20 minutes' drive) and hop in. As luck would have it, a security checkpoint happens upon us. Now, the Ghana Police Service doesn't appear to do much, aside from carrying LED torches--and AK-47s. Our driver, quite reasonably, pulls over and politely reminds us that we are too many (or "too menny" as Thomas Hardy would say), so a couple of us get out of the cab to walk past the checkpoint, allow the car through, and then they would get back in the cab after the checkpoint. Simple plan, right?

Not when the pulling over part occurs 20 yards from the checkpoint. We pull up and the police officer basically utters the Ghanaian equivalent of "dude" (seriously, watch that video above), to which the driver replies his Ghanaian equivalent of "dude"--and they actually let us drive through (possibly because we were obrunis).

After driving through the driver pulls over to pick up the walkers--who happened to be the women in the group--and says that the police want a "dash" (bribe). Dude.

Me, riding shotgun: "Uhhh, so do we have to pay them or something?"

Driver: "Oh no, I told him I would go and come." -grins-

Duuuude.

So we pick up our remaining passengers--yes, nothing sketchy either about picking up "random" obruni women on the street--and continue on our way, without paying the bribe, of course.

About five minutes later we reach a red light at Silver Star Tower (just north of the airport), where the driver exits the cab to check on his tires. (Dude?) Apparently he just bought them today, and wanted to make sure the hubcaps were staying on. Comforting, right?

Anyways, as he steps out, a young man steps up to the windshield and proceeds to spray it and squeegee it--without our asking for it. The driver returns, and asks if I have change to give to the guy. Normally I do have change in my shirt pocket, but tonight I didn't bring any as we were going dancing, and I feel that change ringing around my shirt throws off my (poor excuse for) rhythm. None of us have change readily accessible.

Squeegee guy, reaching his hand into cab: "..."

Driver: "I'll go and come!" -floors it-

The final incident in this cab--yes, we haven't even gotten to the resort yet--was actually kind of my own design. (I rode shotgun as I was the one who had the best idea of where the resort was. So basically in-country knowledge kind of seals my fate some of the time.) This resort is just past the Sankara Overpass, which is a bridge over Ring Road (basically the Ghanaian equivalent of DC's Beltway, but with wayward goats), and under this bridge is a roundabout. Why there needs to be a roundabout is beyond me. In any case, the resort is a right turn just pass the overpass, but I was not sure if the turn occurred on the entry ramp or just after. Naturally it is safer to (somewhat unlawfully) use the roundabout and get on the entry ramp (which by the way, has a very busy bus stop on it for some reason) to check if the turn is there.

Me: "Okay, so pass straight through the roundabout."

Driver: "Straight through?"

Me: "Yes."

Driver: "Are you sure?"

Me: "Do it." -Driver seems pleased with himself.-

Anyways, we pass through the roundabout, effectively cutting off all roundabout passing through- and entering-traffic.

Other drivers: "DUDE!" -our passengers laughing-

Our driver: -grins- You know he's thinking, "Ah, I'll go and come."

Best six cedis ever.

The Coconut Grove was a happenin' place. It was a salsa and line-dancing night, and I must say I was really surprised and impressed with the quality of the Ghanaian salsa community. I really wonder where they all learned salsa, as I'm not sure if traditional Ghanaian culture--or, at least, the very religious part of it--condones it. Also thought that there would be master-class lessons or something, but people just got right into it. I have taken exactly two salsa lessons in my life: one was for high-school Spanish so it doesn't count, and the other was for an undergrad spring formal, where most everyone else was too inebriated to care about my wildly flailing appendages. (In my defense, I have taken like six swing lessons, and I am quite proud of the four (and a half) moves that I can do in endless permutations in such a way that people who have had a couple drinks don't realize that I only have four (and a half) moves. So hah. Mad real-world skill right there.) Did I just double-embed parentheses in that last sentence? Oh yes I did. To sum: No, I did not gather the courage to ask a young lady to salsa. Probably better for both parties.

Oh, I should also note that the dancing occurred on a pool deck around an actual pool. Amazingly, no one fell in, despite the turns, flips and whatever else people were doing.

The line dancing was ... interesting. This party was sponsored by a Ghanaian radio station (99.7?), so it appeared that most people were already familiar with the music and the actual moves. Now this line dancing is not like the Macarena or the Electric Slide for anyone who has attended a wedding in the past 15 years. Nor was it like the Cha-Cha Slide where the moves are called out to you. (How can you mess that up?) Oh no, this line dancing had salsa footwork (okay, doable), but random sets of turns, toe taps, slides and heel flicks. To sum: by the time we got the moves down, the song was over. Probably better for both parties.

There were a lot of people there (maybe 250-350), and quite a few foreigners. We met some nice British high-school students who were helping to build a library for a school about an hour's drive from Accra. Nice people, and they were quite intrigued with the fact that we were from Boston. Also appeared to be a sizeable number of American students at this place.

Anyways, that all ended around 10.30, and we piled into two cabs (two of our members were already there, thus bringing us to seven in total). We again successfully negotiated for a six-cedi ride back home, but our cabs were side-by-side for much of the trip. So we did the "dirty bird" (a couple of team members are masters of this dance move; I will post pictures or a video if I can) while parked at red lights, and called out, in high-pitched voices, "obruni! obruni!" to each other. The cab drivers thought we were hilarious.

So, all in all, not a bad night.

Notes

First off, a roundup of a few of the 598234091 bloggers/articles who have commented on Obama's speech to Ghana's Parliament.

1. NYU's William Easterly, blogging at Aid Watch. Easterly, as he often does, takes aim at anything that mentions "regional organizations". And rightly so. But he does also praise Obama's emphasis on "Africa's future is up to Africans", which I think is the correct sentiment to have.

2. Chris Blattman's analysis. A bit more emphasis on conflict in this post.

3. From the Times. And the BBC for good measure. Here's the BBC's photo series on Obama's visit; I have to say the photographer in me was quite pleased with the depth-of-field shots.

And time for my own analysis. I watched the speech as it happened this past Saturday on GTV (Ghana Television). Sure, the sound quality was a bit suspect and the visual cut out every few minutes (come on, most of the country was on that channel), but it was definitely special watching it live in Ghana. I have to say that the honourable MPs in attendance were looking quite jubilant and wielding their cameras--or were half asleep. Overall, I liked the speech, but I felt that it was lacking in details--namely, I felt that some of it did sound like the "big promises" of the past and I wanted to hear more about managing the oil revenues , though I did very much appreciate the overall emphasis on Africans taking responsibility for their continent's future.

In the sake of time, my "grades" for Obama's speech will roughly follow the key excerpts picked out by the BBC:

I do not see the countries and peoples of Africa as a world apart; I see Africa as a fundamental part of our interconnected world - as partners with America on behalf of the future that we want for all our children.

[B+]: I think a lot of failures in African development programmes of the past have been due to overall attitudes held in the West. In my experience talking with Ghanaians, Ghanaians want to see themselves as being able to build up their country: they are proud of how far they've come and how much they still can do. In short: they're sick of being seen as the world's poor, helpless continent. This past week we've been holding interviews with various experts, and one was at the Department of (Agricultural) Cooperatives. The expert we met mentioned that farmers are quite used to being in cooperatives; basically, every time an aid agency comes in with a project targeting farmers, farmers are required by these agencies to form cooperatives. However, she couldn't really give us an answer as to why these cooperatives were in any way helpful to these aid programs. In other words, it seemed like the aid agencies were guilty of hinging on a buzz word at the expense of these farmers. And these cooperatives typically last for a couple months before fizzling out.

The key part of the above statement is "partners"--a sentiment I feel is still somewhat mixed in the development aid community. I might be a little bitter when I see Western aid workers staying at fancy hotels, eating at the finest European restaurants and being driven around Accra in their new, shiny Nissan Terranos with the obnoxious side decals. But maybe that's just me.

Development depends upon good governance. That is the ingredient which has been missing in far too many places, for far too long. That is the change that can unlock Africa's potential. And that is a responsibility that can only be met by Africans.

[B] Ah, good governance, another great buzzword of the development community. Don't get me wrong, I think good governance (whatever that means?) would be a great thing, but again the devil is in the details. Many have called for democratic elections in Africa. Have these people seen the process of voter registration in a developing country? The physical distribution and collection of ballots around a country? It's not a pretty sight. There have been plenty of high-profile initiatives to combat corruption at the highest levels, but if people still have to pay off the local policeman or "dash" a small amount of money to the customs officers on a weekly basis, then we're not going to see much increased trust in governments. In Ghana, though, it appears these attitudes at the local level are changing, part of which might be due to the relentless free press. Yay free press.

Obama does get an [A] though for affirming that this is a responsibility that needs to be met by Africans.

As Africans reach for this promise, America will be more responsible in extending our hand. By cutting costs that go to Western consultants and administration, we will put more resources in the hands of those who need it, while training people to do more for themselves. That is why our $3.5bn food security initiative is focused on new methods and technologies for farmers - not simply sending American producers or goods to Africa. Aid is not an end in itself. The purpose of foreign assistance must be creating the conditions where it is no longer needed.

[B] I admit I don't know much about this food security initiative, but already I'm a bit suspicious of it (part of it might be due to how the US farm lobby reacts to it and if these farmers will have access to markets beyond their local villages). I cautiously support new methods and technologies for farmers--I say cautiously because shifting towards more capital-intensive methods of agricultural production will have an effect on labor (namely, you won't need as much), and I question the capacity of many African countries to accommodate these displaced laborers. Granted, a lot of farm labour in Africa is of a temporary or exchange basis, but such issues need to be considered during the implementation: food security isn't exactly food security if people can't buy the food.

However, the last two lines of this excerpt are amongst my favourites in the speech.

Yet because of incentives - often provided by donor nations - many African doctors and nurses understandably go overseas, or work for programs that focus on a single disease. This creates gaps in primary care and basic prevention. Meanwhile, individual Africans also have to make responsible choices that prevent the spread of disease, while promoting public health in their communities and countries.

[A] I refer you to Easterly's commentary on this excerpt. Ghana is particularly praiseworthy for its concerted--almost to the point of hilarity--health campaigns, particularly with respect to STIs. However, one thing that bothers me about the Ghanaian health care system is that attitude that a lot of hospitals have towards patient care. Namely, quality of patient care does not seem to be emphasized, and much time--and consequently, lives--is lost to sheer bureaucracy. I refer you to a story from a post a couple weeks ago.

We welcome the steps that are being taken by organizations like the African Union and ECOWAS to better resolve conflicts, keep the peace, and support those in need. And we encourage the vision of a strong, regional security architecture that can bring effective, transnational force to bear when needed.

[C--] Eh. I wasn't the only one concerned about the African Union's recent unwillingness to work with the ICC regarding Omar al-Bashir, right? It also looks like President Atta Mills tacitly agreed with the rest of the African Union on this one. Has there been any commentary on Atta Mills's role in all this? I would've liked to see Obama take a stronger stand against the AU about this.

~~

Overall, I liked the speech, especially its emphasis on the young people of Ghana. Last year, I had the pleasure of working with several young Ghanaians who were on their "National Service". Many of them were really frustrated with the bureaucracy in the public sector, but they were nonetheless committed to serving their country. This year, at the various print shops I've used to print documents, I have noticed quite a few applications for National Service positions, teaching jobs and so forth. Yes we can, indeed.

What's in a Name

So President Obama will be visiting Ghana starting tomorrow, and the country--Accra, especially--is really gearing up for it. Basically every taxi cab has an American flag in it, and countless Ghanaians have asked if I'm American. Even the fishermen from Kokrobite who I helped with their nets wanted to know if I knew the President. However, I think the most hilarious interaction is with the small children, who, perhaps at any other time would scream "obruni! obruniiii!" have now taken to screaming "obama! obamaaa!". I'm down with that.

In any case, Ghanaians are really honored to be hosting Obama, even if for just like 36 hours, and his visit does speak well to Ghana's progress over the last 20 years, progress that will hopefully continue, even with the new oil discovery. One of the leading stories on allAfrica right now comes from Human Rights Watch--a select excerpt:

"Ghana's progress on human rights is commendable, but it will have little meaning if left as an isolated example," said Georgette Gagnon, Africa director at Human Rights Watch. "President Obama should encourage Ghana to promote abroad what it practices at home."

I'm not sure if Ghana yet sees itself as a leader in African affairs--certainly Ghanaians view their country as an example for the rest of Africa, but that doesn't necessarily make it a leader. Perhaps Obama's visit will form up such a sentiment.

And thanks for all the fish

First off, happy belated Fourth of July to my American readership!

There hasn't been too much to report in the past week, as we've pretty much just been conducting expert interviews at various Ministries and Departments around Accra, a process which itself is quite interesting and exciting. Contrary to a lot of stereotypes about African bureaucrats sitting around and doing nothing, the Ghanaian civil service seems genuinely busy (and fairly productive) most of the time. There also seems to be a bit more activity with Barack Obama's visit coming up this week. It's kind of insane over here: there are "Welcome Home" billboards for Obama all over Accra--really, all over Ghana, I'm sure--and he's only going to be here for a day and a half! A brief stop for him, but a giant welcoming party for Ghana. Should be interesting.

This past weekend was spent sitting at Kokrobite Beach, a lovely oasis about 30km southwest of Accra, reading Chinua Achebe's No Longer at Ease and "warding off malaria" with gin and tonics (actual quinine tonic, too). A bunch of us stayed at the interestingly named "Big Milly's Backyard", basically a sandy beach resort owned by an English-Ghanaian couple. Turns out Milly wasn't really that big, and we weren't sure if that were her name. I have mixed feelings about these kinds of resorts, especially since I don't particularly like going to places that are teeming with ex-pats, but Big Milly's didn't turn out to be too bad, and the sea breeze (and the smell of it in our bungalow) was certainly worth it.

Saturday night saw us reggaeing-it up with the ex-pats and a bunch of local Rastafarians. It was ... strange, to say the least. The band basically put a reggae rhythm on basically whatever they could cover, whether it be Enrique Iglesias, Paul Simon or even Lynyrd Skynrd's Sweet Home Alabama. Must say that the dancing was a bit odd, but the local children seemed to like our foreign gyrations. And by "like" I mean they were probably afraid of us.

We all went to bed around midnight, but the music lasted until 3am. So basically, we all went to sleep at 3am. Nonetheless, we were up by 6am to try and catch the fishermen as they were launching the boats. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, there were definitely at least a half dozen boats out there, and we caught one as it was being launched. Turns out launching a fishing boat is quite the complex maneuver: there were at least 12 guys pushing this boat on a system of rolling logs and plywood rails that would shift as soon as the rails ran out. Push the boat forward, let it slightly tip over the fulcrum of the log, plant the rear boards up front, position another log up front, push forward, tip over new fulcrum, move rear boards forward, position rear log back up front. And repeat.

Before this whole process started, the fishermen all gathered around their boat, took off their hats and joined in prayer. It was quite a moving, eerily calm sight. And I soon realized why they did that as soon as the boat got into the water. As George from Seinfeld would say:

"The sea was angry that day my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli."

The water off Ghana's coast is deceptively treacherous, well known for its rip current. The waves weren't too sizeable, but the rowers and the tiller (who was standing up!) fought like mad to keep the boat from capsizing. I'm not really sure what would happen if someone went overboard. I guess it was a good call not to take up their invitations to join them.

Rest of the morning was spent reading No Longer at Ease. I find it a really engaging read so far, particularly for its depiction of the moral dilemmas faced by educated civil servants torn between their government duties and the pressure of loyalty to one's town and people, the very ones who funded their education. Perhaps there will be a book review in the near future.

After finishing a few chapters, I decided to help the fishermen bring in their nets on the beach. Sadly, there are no photos of me doing this (I couldn't bring the camera because the beach is notorious for muggings), but the people were quite intrigued by my presence and offer to help. Reeling in the nets is a strenuous activity (shoulders still a bit sore; these nets are also battling the rip tide), but everyone takes part: the women, children of various ages and the fishermen themselves. There were at least 25 people reeling in the net I was at. To me, it seemed like a whole lot of effort and not a lot of fish. But the fisherman behind me assured me that it was a good catch (not sure if he was just trying to impress a foreigner). Guess I have a bit to learn about fishing in West Africa. As I left, he asked if I knew Obama. I try to keep those connections on the downlow.