Rest in Peace, Lordson

As you may have read in Hallie's last post, recently someone close to us suddenly passed away. His name was Lordson Egloh. He and I were coteaching form 2 math at Atakora as well as attending Peace Corps trainings and workshops together. His death shocked everyone in the community since he was only 26 years old and visibly healthy. I was present when he collapsed and later died. Here is my account of what happened:

On Valentine's Day evening 2011, during a break in our volleyball match, I heard someone call “Ambulance!” I looked across the court to a crowd around him laying on the ground. Rushing over to see what was happening, I looked down at him visibly in pain. “Is he having a seizure? an asthma attack? I never knew he was epileptic or asthmatic. That is probably what's going on here. I've seen a friend recover from a seizure. It looked like this to start. He'll probably be fine. It may be just a matter of minutes before whatever attack he's experiencing leaves him and he is sitting on the sideline drinking water.” I froze. I let others try what they can to snap him out of it. They splashed him with water, tapped his chest, planned to rush him to the hospital in town on the back of a motorcycle, before finally one player picked him up and ran the 100 meters to the roadside. A car was flagged down and, aware of how my perception of time was altered, I'll nondescriptly say minutes had passed since he collapsed before he was in intensive care. I trailed behind by bicycle. I thought it best to show my support at the hospital. Regardless of my being there, he'd make his recovery and I'd visit him at his house tomorrow. The last thing I expected was to hear a student say “He's dead.” “Are you asking me or telling me?,” I said. He was sure of it. Had the doctors not tried?

The cutoff for a passing percentage on a graded work in Ghanaian schools, at least up through high school is 35%. Does the same standard apply in the medical schools that trained the doctors that treated him? Did they complete a thorough curriculum incorporating practical learning and were they not responsible for at least a majority of knowledge and practices they were taught? Would they have saved the majority of people that entered that hospital under the circumstances that Lordson did? Or 35%? I'm told he died before entering the hospital. Would he still be alive if we/I acted more quickly? Living in a different culture, I've adopted a greater tendency towards inaction. In a lot of scenarios, as a foreigner, I simply do not know the expected behavior. Did this tendency bleed into a situation where a human life was a risk? These are the thoughts that wouldn't leave my mind in the following days.

Add to the list of those shocked and dismayed: the students of Atakora school, the teachers some very close friends and coworkers of three years, Lordson's grandparents who have already lost several children, and Lordson's newly pregnant fiance. In the weeks following we teachers and students came to school but classes were not in session. We welcomed many visitors from the community who came to offer their condolences. Some teachers and the majority of the students spent those days marching around the school chanting and making noise in Lordson's honor. On the day after, we played a volleyball game on the very court where he collapsed. Grieving was done head-on. Although most Ghanaians associated with the school consider themselves Christian, they would still agree that witchcraft and juju exert a real impact on earthly happenings. Part of the reason, we were chanting and making noise, I believe, was to ward off any bad spirits. Lordson's guardians-his grandparents-and his wife live in a different region of the country than Lordson did. A few days after his death, they visited Donkorkrom. Hallie, another friend, and I stopped by where they were staying. Something his grandfather told me during our short visit was that he is “sure that somebody did this to him.” Traditional African beliefs are more residual in the elderly; he's talking about juju. A week or so after, the teachers gathered at the school for a vigil conducted by a pair of devout men. That night the men were able to 'identify' the specific avenue a force of witchcraft has taken.

We are preparing to travel to Lordson's hometown this Friday for the funeral. Like me, you may have been surprised to learn in the culture section of you Intro Spanish class that the death of loved ones in not cause for mourning alone. I'm thinking El Dia de los Muertos. I've yet to attend a funeral in Ghana but I've heard the tone of the event probably has more in common with our(US citizens) American counterparts to the south. During a cross-cultural aspect of pre-service training, a trainer was sensitizing us to the type of humor we could encounter in Ghana in reference to death. By his advice, I shouldn't be surprised to overhear someone poking fun at a friend of Lordson's with “What's the matter? You couldn't feed him?” Death is viewed in Ghanaian culture different than I'm accustomed. Our headmistress addressed us teachers the other day with the issue of how much money we will contribute to Lordson's family. During the discussion I brought up that I've yet to attend a Ghanaian funeral. Her response was “Yɛbo nsa” meaning “We drink liquor.” Apparently donations to the family and memorializing imbibition are custom at Ghanaian funerals. Before leaving Chicago, Hallie and I saw a documentary, Glorious Exit, about a Nigerian funeral that would offer a good visual of something similar to what we're in for. Although, I intend to post pictures/videos of the event afterwards.

Lordson had aspiration and intention. He would go over his life plan as if half revising, half fantasizing. While a teacher at Atakora he was enrolled in a long-distance courses leading to a diploma. He dreamed about finishing his degree right about the same time his wife, living apart from him, would finish nursing school. He would transfer to a high school in the same town as his wife. He would teach agriculture and she would become a nurse. The sacrifices he was making as an investment for his future added up to an undetectable strain on his life. Perhaps he was prone to serious health problems for years and some preventative health care such as a routine physical could have saved his life. It's a shame that he's gone. I hope it's all uphill from here for his friends and family.

Above, Lordson is next to me.

(May 13, 2011) Here's a video I took from Lordson's funeral. I think the moment highlights some cultural differences from the viewpoint of someone outside Ghana. The video is a short clip from the viewing during which his body was positioned to appear as if he is seated upright writing in a book, an activity teachers often do. Various women are loudly lamenting his death. I remember my grandparents' viewing being much more somber events.

That Sounds Romantic

There are words in spoken and written Twi that bear resemblance, at least phonetically, to English words. This is not surprising granted that English, the national language of Ghana, is for most Ghanaians second or third after native languages. Many currently living in Ghana probably share living space, the most likely setting for the handing down of native languages to younger generations, with a family member that saw the end of British colonial rule halfway through the 20th century. Furthermore, Twi learning materials available today, the media that bring said words to print, were authored either by Ghanaians that also lived through the end of colonial rule or foreign linguists.

The selection of English words that function as Twi vocabulary have either prevailed in use over their Twi equivalents, take for example "tikyani(from the English 'teacher')" having replaced "okyerekyereni" meaning "one who often shows/directs," or were not met by one, for example "kaset(from the English 'cassette')." This adoption is a reflection of how aspects of western culture have either replaced or developed alongside aspects of west African culture. I've made a list of Twi words I've come across that are freebies to me, an English speaker learning Twi. Items in the list are in the format "Twi:English." If nothing else, I hope that on a sensory level, you get a kick out of seeing the spellings of English words butchered at costs to preserve how they sound to people of a distinctly different culture. ('ε' is pronounced as in "let" and 'כ' is pronounced as in "ought")

• Engiresi:English
• sotככ:store
• laibri:library
• nכma:number
• disko:disco
• sini:cinema
• kasεt:cassette
• steedium:stadium
• sכka:soccer
• baskεt bככl:basketball
• bכs:bus
• dכkta:doctor
• kaa:car
• taksi:taxi
• posuכfese:post office
• sukuu:school
• tikyani:teacher
• patroo:petrol
• bכgyεte:budget
• nεεseni:nurse
• kapentani:carpenter
• bia:beer
• lεtε:letter
• tii:tea
• baebae oo:bye-bye

Su.M.O.

As ICT chair for the Susu Microfinance Organization, a granting organization started by and for current Peace Corps Volunteers in Ghana, I present our website. The money that Su.M.O. members pool together will be used to fund development work done in collaboration with Ghanaians. As the organization evolves I intend to highlight projects that it helps fund.

Scenes from Vacation

Atakora D/A JHS

I teach Math to junior high students at the public Atakora school. In the picture above, the three forms(grade levels) of my students occupy the rightmost building, a three-year-old addition to the campus. The six forms of primary students occupy the center building and the kindergarten students occupy the leftmost building, a year-old addition. Upon my arrival to Donkorkrom, the kindergarten building was without a roof; I learned from other teachers that the wind had blown it off during the last school vacation. As a PCV expected to facilitate secondary projects aside from the efforts required of a teacher, I thought reconstruction might be an opportunity. However, being a recently completed public school building, the District Assembly had someone on the job. Walking home from town on the day before the start of classes, I approached a group of men standing clear in the shade looking on at a barefoot and shirtless cohort grinding a large chainsaw away at the base of a five-story tree near the building. Asking for the plan, I was told that the tall threat was being removed before beginning the reconstruction. "Look out," thud, oops. Executive shortcomings landed the massive tree directly on the building that was to be safeguarded. I continued home as the quarreling began. In some light, it's better to have chosen the order 1)fall the tree then 2)build the roof rather than the reverse. Regardless, roof construction and the first school term commenced the next day.

The campus of the school is idyllic, not without help from the students. After an abrupt one week delay of the first term, the students spent the first full week in session cleaning out the building and weeding the grounds by cutlass(machete). After fulfilling their initial obligations as the school maintenance crew, the students sat for promotion exams. The Ghana Education Service mandates that when a student completes a form in a public school they are to advance the next form. And, after completing the third and final form of junior high school each student is to sit for a standardized test, a measure of both the student's potential for senior high school and the school's effectiveness. In practice, students are only promoted through the forms of junior high school if they are viable candidates for senior high school. The first two forms then act as a watershed for repeating students. The school administration prefers to collect school fees from repeating students rather than mar the school's reputation by forcing them through the system. Last week, I was teaching data collection to my form 2 students. To illustrate a bar chart, I collected the ages of students in class. In the equivalent of a class of American 8th graders, the ages range from 13 to 22.

After days devoted to promotion exams, classes began. With two teachers on maternity leave and a third transferred to a different school on short notice, four(myself included) remain; it's safe to say we're understaffed. I started off the year teaching all periods of math, but later gave up some of the form 2 and 3 periods out of concern that my teaching will be attributed to graduating students' performance, good or bad, on the standardized test. After two months on the job, I like to think my confidence and performance has and will continue to improve. Getting up in front of class was nerve-wracking at first, but as the days have passed, routine has provided some stability. In the first weeks, the curiosity of one student or the stubbornness of another could make or break my whole day. The students have a hard time hearing my English and I have to make a conscious effort to adopt their pronunciations and speech patterns. Despite many obstacles, I am fortunate to teach some truly bright yet underserved students. Aside from teaching, adapting to the status quo at school has been equally dizzying. Watching the Wednesday morning worship time, during which all students gather in one classroom to sing, clap, and dance with no assistance from a teacher melts my heart whereas seeing the same students being caned for not providing school fees or for answering questions incorrectly in class breaks my heart. Alas, I don't have similar teaching experience in America to compare my current occupation, but I encounter much that I think would be hard to come by in American secondary schools. For example, it's not uncommon for a disoriented chicken or goat to wander into a classroom as I am teaching. During one such occasion, a student called out: "Sir, it's come to learn."

A bit about DASS

Entrance to DASS

I teach at Donkorkrom Agriculture Secondary School, one of four agric schools in Ghana. One of the perks of working at such a school is the beautifully kept land. The students weed the grounds for the whole first week of each term. The special care of one’s natural surroundings isn’t just particular to DASS. Many Ghanaians wake up at dawn and sweep their house and even outside. The verb to sweep, “pra”, was one of my first vocab words in Twi class. Anyway, the school grounds are very quaint. Students who enter DASS choose one of five programs: General Arts, Business, Agriculture, Science, and Visual Arts. There are 3 terms, with the longest break being from end of July to early September. Students who go to DASS either live in Donkorkrom or board at the school if they are from out of town. They are required to wear a turquoise uniform for school.

Canteen at the center of campus

Form 2 Boys

I am part of the science department and I teach elective physics classes to Form 2 students (or sophomores as Americans would know it) in the Agriculture and Science programs. My first term began three weeks ago, but I’ve only taught for one week. During the first two weeks I did not have a schedule yet. I wasn’t too sure what my presence at the school meant without classes to teach. I still made it a point to visit the school once a day. Each time I went there a couple students asked me to come to their class and teach something. So I taught a few impromptu classes, but I was mainly trying to get to know some students. I asked everyone their names, where they are from, and their favorite thing about Donkorkrom. Some said they like the farming and fishing here, some like the ethnic diversity (Akans and Ewes), and some like school.

Form 2 Science classroom

So far I have just covered some basics to the students, who are learning physics for the first time. Although they all speak English, it’s still very hard for them to understand me, no matter how much I think I’m slowing my speech down. Sometimes I ask the class a question and everyone looks blank and I have to tell them, “I am asking a question.” Then they say, “yes, Madame” even if I was not looking for yes or no. On the first day of class I asked the students if they have learned about scalar and vector quantities. I looked around the class and no one raised their hand. I repeated, “Scalar- do you know that? Vector- do you know it?” And a few kids said no. So I said, “have you heard the words before, but not the exact definition?” “Yes, Madame.” “Okay, well if you had to guess, how would you define a scalar quantity?” After I asked that, one kid raised his hand and gave me textbook definitions of both scalar and vector. I’m left guessing whether or not I’m teaching them the right thing.

This past weekend Joe and I traveled to Kumasi, the second largest city in Ghana, to buy bikes with our moving in allowance. There is a lovely hostel-type residence just for PCVs called the Kumasi Sub-Office (KSO) with books, computers, a kitchen, bunk beds, medical supplies and other stuff.

Common Room at the KSO

Our recent purchases will surely open up many opportunities for us to explore Afram Plains.

Holding a little neighbor girl the Ghanaian way

A pinky toe in the door

Joe here with some non-Peace Corps news: Readers of the MAA monthly Mathematics Magazine are encouraged to submit solutions to problems posed in their “Problems” column. I submitted a solution a while back and although it didn’t appear in print, my name was listed as one of the solvers.

Here’s the full column from October 2010 and here’s my solution that didn’t make it. I have two [1, 2] other proposed solutions pending in this and another periodical, but I don’t think they stand a chance for print. For now, my presence in the world of published math is restricted to a blip at the bottom of the last column of an extraneous publication.