Happy To Be Back In Africa
June 7, 2008
Hello Everyone,
Well, I'm home . . . I mean here. In Ghana. But the first words I heard on landing were Bernard's, saying, "Welcome home, Manye," and it felt very right. I found myself loving the dense heat that penetrates to the marrow but somehow doesn't make me cranky. I kept breathing the air in deep gulps, trying to identify that something indescribable that makes it so different from ours. I received the cacophony of traffic and hawkers and blaring rap music that would make me crazy anywhere else as a soothing balm to the spirit. Don't ask me why. It's just something about this place. The squalor that so horrified me the first time I arrived now holds a chaotic but profound charm for me. This is Africa, and I love it. I don't know why.
Some of it must have to do with the miracle of Bernard himself. What an amazing young man! I'm so enjoying this chance to get to know him better, to understand what motivates him to give up so much to do this service for his community. He's one of the finest people I've ever known. I hope, and trust, that we will be lifelong friends.
And the house he found . . . I still can't believe he managed to negotiate such a deal on a place so nice! No squalor here at all. It's spanking clean, freshly painted, secure within a walled area shared by the landlord's own home, and it even has running water . . . a day or two a week. Not enough pressure to take a shower, so the bucket is back. But I'm beginning to understand that when people here say they have a shower, it only means that they have a shower stall, which has nothing whatsoever to do with whether you can ever actually take a shower in it. But who cares. I'm used to the bucket. I've come to like it. It's a sign of home.
June 7, 2008
Hello Everyone,
Well, I'm home . . . I mean here. In Ghana. But the first words I heard on landing were Bernard's, saying, "Welcome home, Manye," and it felt very right. I found myself loving the dense heat that penetrates to the marrow but somehow doesn't make me cranky. I kept breathing the air in deep gulps, trying to identify that something indescribable that makes it so different from ours. I received the cacophony of traffic and hawkers and blaring rap music that would make me crazy anywhere else as a soothing balm to the spirit. Don't ask me why. It's just something about this place. The squalor that so horrified me the first time I arrived now holds a chaotic but profound charm for me. This is Africa, and I love it. I don't know why.
Some of it must have to do with the miracle of Bernard himself. What an amazing young man! I'm so enjoying this chance to get to know him better, to understand what motivates him to give up so much to do this service for his community. He's one of the finest people I've ever known. I hope, and trust, that we will be lifelong friends.
And the house he found . . . I still can't believe he managed to negotiate such a deal on a place so nice! No squalor here at all. It's spanking clean, freshly painted, secure within a walled area shared by the landlord's own home, and it even has running water . . . a day or two a week. Not enough pressure to take a shower, so the bucket is back. But I'm beginning to understand that when people here say they have a shower, it only means that they have a shower stall, which has nothing whatsoever to do with whether you can ever actually take a shower in it. But who cares. I'm used to the bucket. I've come to like it. It's a sign of home.
Home has five small but adequate and immaculately clean rooms plus a kitchen, bathroom and shower room, colorfully printed curtains for privacy, a wonderful long porch where we hold our training and work sessions, two full-sized mattresses, several plastic buckets, a few pans and dishes, an electric fan, a couple of plastic tables, ten plastic chairs, a bunch of beading tools and supplies, and not much else -- all for the record-breaking price of $100.00 a month. A similar organization in the next town over has two closet-sized rooms with no bathroom, no sink, no comforts at all, and they pay $75.00. But this is Bernard. He spares no effort to get things done, and he works miracles. Despite his youth, and despite the myriad objections the landlord initially had about renting to anyone so young and "unsettled," he managed to secure this lovely place for us, in which we can now train our producers, hold work sessions and meetings, do our office work, store our supplies, pack our products for shipping, and even live.
So, as you may have gathered, I'm very, very happy. The training sessions with our young employees are going extremely well. The bead makers made the unprecedented gesture of all being a full hour early for our first meeting, and all being seated in a circle, waiting for me and shouting out, "Welcome, you are welcome" when I arrived. I shook all of their hands and said their names as I did so, a fact that apparently amazed them even more than it did me -- I didn't forget a one! (Those of you who know me well know what an achievement that is.) Then, once I was seated, they all insisted on getting up and filing by to shake my hand again. I was very touched. This, of course, was followed by two hours of heated arguments about the parameters of the organization and the decisions we had made since my last trip. The issue was our hiring of the youth when most of the bead makers want to do -- and get the money for -- producing the items themselves. Which we all know would end up never getting done in time because they're too busy making beads, and because they are perpetually on Africa time. Finally, on a sudden and rare inspiration, I settled the issue instantaneously by asking why on earth we would bother to buy beads from them now only to have to give the beads back to them later so that they can produce the jewelry. No more debate. Money now is always better than the possibility of money later. It was manipulative on my part, but it worked. And our decision to hire our own staff was affirmed when the spokesman for the group insisted that their children could make the designs for us. Well, their children are under-age, so that was simply not going to happen
I'd better go. I'm writing this from an internet cafe, so chances are good that this computer will crash soon. Our own internet hookup is lost in Africa time. It was supposed to be ready by the time I got here, but... well, this is Africa. Nothing ever, ever happens on schedule here. But we have hopes for this coming week. In the meantime, as always, my heartfelt thanks to everyone who got me here and made this project possible. It's been an experience of miracles for me. I'll keep you posted.
Melody
So, as you may have gathered, I'm very, very happy. The training sessions with our young employees are going extremely well. The bead makers made the unprecedented gesture of all being a full hour early for our first meeting, and all being seated in a circle, waiting for me and shouting out, "Welcome, you are welcome" when I arrived. I shook all of their hands and said their names as I did so, a fact that apparently amazed them even more than it did me -- I didn't forget a one! (Those of you who know me well know what an achievement that is.) Then, once I was seated, they all insisted on getting up and filing by to shake my hand again. I was very touched. This, of course, was followed by two hours of heated arguments about the parameters of the organization and the decisions we had made since my last trip. The issue was our hiring of the youth when most of the bead makers want to do -- and get the money for -- producing the items themselves. Which we all know would end up never getting done in time because they're too busy making beads, and because they are perpetually on Africa time. Finally, on a sudden and rare inspiration, I settled the issue instantaneously by asking why on earth we would bother to buy beads from them now only to have to give the beads back to them later so that they can produce the jewelry. No more debate. Money now is always better than the possibility of money later. It was manipulative on my part, but it worked. And our decision to hire our own staff was affirmed when the spokesman for the group insisted that their children could make the designs for us. Well, their children are under-age, so that was simply not going to happen
I'd better go. I'm writing this from an internet cafe, so chances are good that this computer will crash soon. Our own internet hookup is lost in Africa time. It was supposed to be ready by the time I got here, but... well, this is Africa. Nothing ever, ever happens on schedule here. But we have hopes for this coming week. In the meantime, as always, my heartfelt thanks to everyone who got me here and made this project possible. It's been an experience of miracles for me. I'll keep you posted.
Melody
Progress At Africa's Pace
June 17, 2008
Hello Everyone,
Well, Africa has been behaving like Africa since I last wrote, hence the delay in writing this time. Still no internet hookup at the house, though we came very close one day -- the workers actually showed up (albeit two weeks late). But then there was a technical glitch. So the next day we went to the internet café, but it was inexplicably closed during open hours. And then it was Sunday. So we tried again the next day, but the café had lost its link through some other technical glitch. And of course we didn't find out on either occasion until we had spent time and money -- both of them precious and scarce -- traveling there. Nothing is ever easy here.
On the other hand, for two glorious days we not only had running water, but it ran with enough pressure to actually take a shower… sort of. I took five of them. I was struck each time with the difference a fundamental shift in perspective can make. At home, that hesitant little trickle of cold liquid would have had me uttering expletives and calling for a plumber. Here it was pure, unadulterated pleasure. The same thing goes for the occasional cool breeze that lightens the heat, however briefly. You don't spend time chafing about how rare it is. You simply accept it as a gift to be enjoyed fully for however long it lasts. Africa has much to teach us about simple pleasures.
As rainy seasons go, this one hasn't been. We've had a few showers, but many more days of clear sunshine, and none of the non-stop three-day deluges we'd been told to expect (knock on wood). When it does rain, it's lovely and refreshing and cool, except for the part where we have to hold back the flood waters that try to submerge our porch and my side of the bedroom Helen and I share. At some point, we'll have to attack the source of that problem (i.e. the leaks), but that's for later. Right now the money is better spent elsewhere. So we mop.
The project itself is gaining momentum. The producers are really finding their niches, whether it be stringing, wire work or designing. The rate of production, which frankly had me a bit concerned, is picking up, as is the quality of workmanship, which had me even more concerned until today, when we made a sudden leap forward. We're continuing to work on it.
We have a growing number of people here who are taking an interest in the project now that Soul of Somanya has begun to look like a going concern. Our landlord is among them. He began by being reluctant to rent to us for fear of having to tolerate too many people and too much noise on his property. Now he seems increasingly pleased to be facilitating things. He has even brought people here to look at our jewelry. We were also visited by a female news broadcaster, daughter of the queen mother of the neighboring town of Odumasse. Everyone understands all too well how desperately employment is needed here. Sympathetic, well-meaning people from other parts of the globe can come here and drop off much-needed goods and services from now until the end of the world and nothing essential will ever change. What is needed is jobs. The people who live here are intelligent and practical. They know perfectly well what they need most, and it isn't always, at any given moment, what we, as Westerners, think they need. When you can't afford food, the issue of purified water can seem surprisingly trivial. And when you have food but are drinking river water that is making your children sick from day to day, mosquito nets seem relatively unimportant, since the water is much more likely to get you than the mosquitoes. And so it goes.
A steady, predictable income works for Ghanaians just as it does for us -- it allows them to judge for themselves from moment to moment what would most benefit their families. I'm more and more convinced that, while donating goods and services is appropriate and necessary in disaster relief situations, in this situation, it simply isn't. A sustainable form of income is the greatest gift any of us can offer. Soul of Somanya is now doing that for eight young people, one of whom has a very young son who accompanies her to work. We have already seen profound changes in how he is being dressed and cleaned and fed since his mother has been drawing steady pay. It may even be that we are preventing him from becoming orphaned due to her inability to care for him -- that happens a lot here. This form of prevention, it seems to me, is so much better than someone having to step in after the fact and take care of that motherless child forever after. I only hope we can manage to keep the flow of income steady for her and the others over the next few months while we get our marketing strategies settled and underway.
Helen has been a big help to us here. She has pretty much handled the training sessions for the stringers, and she has been very generous with her resources in helping out with the daily expenses of food, bagged water and transportation. The bead makers are especially enthusiastic about her, since her bead-loving self has joined in on most of my project-related buying frenzies, and has therefore boosted their sales. I hope we can fit all the beads and jewelry meant for home into our suitcases without going over the weight limit. It's looking a bit iffy as things stand. We may have to wear a lot of it on our necks.
Bernard is consistently being his wonderful, patient, wise, hard-working self. It's been such a pleasure for me to have the chance finally to get to know him better. If I had a son, I'd want him to be just like this remarkable young man. He's the heart of this project, and he has a permanent place in my heart as well.
Well, I'll sign off now. Bernard and Helen both send their regards -- and their thanks -- along with mine. We're all very aware that, without all of you, none of this would have been even remotely possible.
Sincerely,
Melody
June 17, 2008
Hello Everyone,
Well, Africa has been behaving like Africa since I last wrote, hence the delay in writing this time. Still no internet hookup at the house, though we came very close one day -- the workers actually showed up (albeit two weeks late). But then there was a technical glitch. So the next day we went to the internet café, but it was inexplicably closed during open hours. And then it was Sunday. So we tried again the next day, but the café had lost its link through some other technical glitch. And of course we didn't find out on either occasion until we had spent time and money -- both of them precious and scarce -- traveling there. Nothing is ever easy here.
On the other hand, for two glorious days we not only had running water, but it ran with enough pressure to actually take a shower… sort of. I took five of them. I was struck each time with the difference a fundamental shift in perspective can make. At home, that hesitant little trickle of cold liquid would have had me uttering expletives and calling for a plumber. Here it was pure, unadulterated pleasure. The same thing goes for the occasional cool breeze that lightens the heat, however briefly. You don't spend time chafing about how rare it is. You simply accept it as a gift to be enjoyed fully for however long it lasts. Africa has much to teach us about simple pleasures.
As rainy seasons go, this one hasn't been. We've had a few showers, but many more days of clear sunshine, and none of the non-stop three-day deluges we'd been told to expect (knock on wood). When it does rain, it's lovely and refreshing and cool, except for the part where we have to hold back the flood waters that try to submerge our porch and my side of the bedroom Helen and I share. At some point, we'll have to attack the source of that problem (i.e. the leaks), but that's for later. Right now the money is better spent elsewhere. So we mop.
The project itself is gaining momentum. The producers are really finding their niches, whether it be stringing, wire work or designing. The rate of production, which frankly had me a bit concerned, is picking up, as is the quality of workmanship, which had me even more concerned until today, when we made a sudden leap forward. We're continuing to work on it.
We have a growing number of people here who are taking an interest in the project now that Soul of Somanya has begun to look like a going concern. Our landlord is among them. He began by being reluctant to rent to us for fear of having to tolerate too many people and too much noise on his property. Now he seems increasingly pleased to be facilitating things. He has even brought people here to look at our jewelry. We were also visited by a female news broadcaster, daughter of the queen mother of the neighboring town of Odumasse. Everyone understands all too well how desperately employment is needed here. Sympathetic, well-meaning people from other parts of the globe can come here and drop off much-needed goods and services from now until the end of the world and nothing essential will ever change. What is needed is jobs. The people who live here are intelligent and practical. They know perfectly well what they need most, and it isn't always, at any given moment, what we, as Westerners, think they need. When you can't afford food, the issue of purified water can seem surprisingly trivial. And when you have food but are drinking river water that is making your children sick from day to day, mosquito nets seem relatively unimportant, since the water is much more likely to get you than the mosquitoes. And so it goes.
A steady, predictable income works for Ghanaians just as it does for us -- it allows them to judge for themselves from moment to moment what would most benefit their families. I'm more and more convinced that, while donating goods and services is appropriate and necessary in disaster relief situations, in this situation, it simply isn't. A sustainable form of income is the greatest gift any of us can offer. Soul of Somanya is now doing that for eight young people, one of whom has a very young son who accompanies her to work. We have already seen profound changes in how he is being dressed and cleaned and fed since his mother has been drawing steady pay. It may even be that we are preventing him from becoming orphaned due to her inability to care for him -- that happens a lot here. This form of prevention, it seems to me, is so much better than someone having to step in after the fact and take care of that motherless child forever after. I only hope we can manage to keep the flow of income steady for her and the others over the next few months while we get our marketing strategies settled and underway.
Helen has been a big help to us here. She has pretty much handled the training sessions for the stringers, and she has been very generous with her resources in helping out with the daily expenses of food, bagged water and transportation. The bead makers are especially enthusiastic about her, since her bead-loving self has joined in on most of my project-related buying frenzies, and has therefore boosted their sales. I hope we can fit all the beads and jewelry meant for home into our suitcases without going over the weight limit. It's looking a bit iffy as things stand. We may have to wear a lot of it on our necks.
Bernard is consistently being his wonderful, patient, wise, hard-working self. It's been such a pleasure for me to have the chance finally to get to know him better. If I had a son, I'd want him to be just like this remarkable young man. He's the heart of this project, and he has a permanent place in my heart as well.
Well, I'll sign off now. Bernard and Helen both send their regards -- and their thanks -- along with mine. We're all very aware that, without all of you, none of this would have been even remotely possible.
Sincerely,
Melody
Dead Golden Goose Syndrome
June 23, 2008
Hello Everyone,
It's hard to believe I have to leave here in two days. There's still so much to do, and besides, I'm just not ready, emotionally or in any other sense. Bernard keeps shaking his head regretfully and saying, "Not a long enough time this time." He's right. I wish I'd planned a longer stay. What was I thinking?
Hindsight.
The workers have produced some really great jewelry, and we have begun choosing our final prototypes for the catalog. We want to include only pieces that are repeatable, but this is very hard to do when we never know which beads are going to be available at any given moment so that we'll be able to fill orders in a timely fashion. It seems that buying beads here is pot luck, no matter what you do. If you go to market, it's pot luck. If you order the beads, it's still pot luck since you either never get them or you get whatever the bead makers feel like making with what they have on hand at the time. If you advance the money so that they can get the actual materials they need to fill your order, I'm not sure what happens exactly, but the prospects aren't much better for getting exactly -- or even nearly -- what you ordered. Never mind getting the beads on time. Most often, they are never delivered at all.
This is Africa. The biggest challenges have to do with the mindset. I already knew this, but I tend to forget it about ten times a day until, inevitably, something reminds me with a vengeance. For example, there's what I call the dead golden goose syndrome. Symptoms include a systematic undermining of one's own interests with such behaviors as tripling your prices for a single good sale today, thereby guaranteeing that the would-be buyer (who will almost certainly go to the region's largest bead market tomorrow and see those same beads for one-third the price) will never want to do business with you again. A potential lifetime of good sales right down the drain. No more golden eggs.
I told the golden egg story to our bead makers, and they really liked it, but I don't think they quite got it, since the head bead maker's wife showed up a few days later with beads that didn't even remotely resemble what I'd ordered and then tried to charge us not three but four times the market price for them. When I refused to buy them, she blithely informed me that I had paid that much for similar beads before, so why not now?
She had a point -- I was laying golden eggs all over the place here when I first arrived, since I thought that the hike in fuel prices had caused bead prices to jump more than they really had. But I'm fresh out of gold now. Still, the old goose does have a little life left in her. I paid her 50% over market value for the beads since the town bead makers have a certifiable firewood problem, namely that they have to truck it in from the hinterlands at great expense. This makes it difficult for them to compete with the villagers' prices. So we give them a break when we can.
It's so tempting at times to restrict our buying to the markets and to the one or two bead makers who have been able to get with the program; who actually make what we order and deliver it more or less on time. I have to remind myself that to do so would be to forget our real purpose here. The people who have the most trouble conforming to Western ways of doing business are precisely the people who need our help the most. The others are more likely to find their own way. But it can be very frustrating at times. I know all too well that customers in the U.S. are highly unlikely to keep buying from us if the orders they receive are different from what they saw in the catalog, or if those orders take six months to arrive. Some cooperation on the part of the bead makers is crucial. But many simply can't comprehend the need for it. So we get what we can from them and try to fill in the gaps at market.
The producers, on the other hand, are responding very well. We've been pleased to notice that they don't seem to be blowing their money on frivolous things as soon as they get it. Sometimes they even give us change for larger bills so that we can dole out their daily pay in the correct denominations. We're very pleased about this. We started them at well over the minimum daily wage, and we have decided to give raises before I go--larger ones to those who have demonstrated the most willingness to follow orders well and to work hard. They deserve it, and I hope it will serve as an extra incentive for the others.
Helen had her naming ceremony on Saturday at dawn. She is now Manye Seyelor (Assistant to the Queen... namely me) Nana Terku Banahene IV. Manye Mamiya honored us the next day by visiting us to see where we are working and what we have been producing. Of course, we were expected to cover her travel expenses . . . plus a little. Oh well. It's part of doing business here. I actually budgeted for a little of that, though not enough.
Last night my pre-departure melancholy began setting in. I sat outside and let go of the daily stuff that swirls around in my brain all the time now, letting myself just be, soaking up Africa. The warm, balmy air that moistens the skin, sensitizing it to any slight stirring of a breeze. The distant wailing of dogs and the gruff, throaty croaking of bullfrogs. The light, tantalizingly brief aroma of something floral that finds its way through the heavier scents of heated palm oil and wood smoke. The thick, pure darkness, unrelieved by streetlights and neon. The rustling of palm fronds against the side of our house.
Our house. Bernard and I signed the lease yesterday, and everything felt suddenly very real. For one thing, I now know how he managed to negotiate such a favorable lease -- he signed on for two years of hard labor as maintenance man and groundskeeper. It's so like him not to have mentioned that to me.
I'll be leaving most of my clothes here this time, along with some other things I'll need when I return. My sweat-kerchiefs. My fan. The flip-flops I wear around the property. Our not-so-fierce guard dog, Domelivo. My friend Bernard. And a good-sized chunk of my heart.
See you all soon.
Melody
June 23, 2008
Hello Everyone,
It's hard to believe I have to leave here in two days. There's still so much to do, and besides, I'm just not ready, emotionally or in any other sense. Bernard keeps shaking his head regretfully and saying, "Not a long enough time this time." He's right. I wish I'd planned a longer stay. What was I thinking?
Hindsight.
The workers have produced some really great jewelry, and we have begun choosing our final prototypes for the catalog. We want to include only pieces that are repeatable, but this is very hard to do when we never know which beads are going to be available at any given moment so that we'll be able to fill orders in a timely fashion. It seems that buying beads here is pot luck, no matter what you do. If you go to market, it's pot luck. If you order the beads, it's still pot luck since you either never get them or you get whatever the bead makers feel like making with what they have on hand at the time. If you advance the money so that they can get the actual materials they need to fill your order, I'm not sure what happens exactly, but the prospects aren't much better for getting exactly -- or even nearly -- what you ordered. Never mind getting the beads on time. Most often, they are never delivered at all.
This is Africa. The biggest challenges have to do with the mindset. I already knew this, but I tend to forget it about ten times a day until, inevitably, something reminds me with a vengeance. For example, there's what I call the dead golden goose syndrome. Symptoms include a systematic undermining of one's own interests with such behaviors as tripling your prices for a single good sale today, thereby guaranteeing that the would-be buyer (who will almost certainly go to the region's largest bead market tomorrow and see those same beads for one-third the price) will never want to do business with you again. A potential lifetime of good sales right down the drain. No more golden eggs.
I told the golden egg story to our bead makers, and they really liked it, but I don't think they quite got it, since the head bead maker's wife showed up a few days later with beads that didn't even remotely resemble what I'd ordered and then tried to charge us not three but four times the market price for them. When I refused to buy them, she blithely informed me that I had paid that much for similar beads before, so why not now?
She had a point -- I was laying golden eggs all over the place here when I first arrived, since I thought that the hike in fuel prices had caused bead prices to jump more than they really had. But I'm fresh out of gold now. Still, the old goose does have a little life left in her. I paid her 50% over market value for the beads since the town bead makers have a certifiable firewood problem, namely that they have to truck it in from the hinterlands at great expense. This makes it difficult for them to compete with the villagers' prices. So we give them a break when we can.
It's so tempting at times to restrict our buying to the markets and to the one or two bead makers who have been able to get with the program; who actually make what we order and deliver it more or less on time. I have to remind myself that to do so would be to forget our real purpose here. The people who have the most trouble conforming to Western ways of doing business are precisely the people who need our help the most. The others are more likely to find their own way. But it can be very frustrating at times. I know all too well that customers in the U.S. are highly unlikely to keep buying from us if the orders they receive are different from what they saw in the catalog, or if those orders take six months to arrive. Some cooperation on the part of the bead makers is crucial. But many simply can't comprehend the need for it. So we get what we can from them and try to fill in the gaps at market.
The producers, on the other hand, are responding very well. We've been pleased to notice that they don't seem to be blowing their money on frivolous things as soon as they get it. Sometimes they even give us change for larger bills so that we can dole out their daily pay in the correct denominations. We're very pleased about this. We started them at well over the minimum daily wage, and we have decided to give raises before I go--larger ones to those who have demonstrated the most willingness to follow orders well and to work hard. They deserve it, and I hope it will serve as an extra incentive for the others.
Helen had her naming ceremony on Saturday at dawn. She is now Manye Seyelor (Assistant to the Queen... namely me) Nana Terku Banahene IV. Manye Mamiya honored us the next day by visiting us to see where we are working and what we have been producing. Of course, we were expected to cover her travel expenses . . . plus a little. Oh well. It's part of doing business here. I actually budgeted for a little of that, though not enough.
Last night my pre-departure melancholy began setting in. I sat outside and let go of the daily stuff that swirls around in my brain all the time now, letting myself just be, soaking up Africa. The warm, balmy air that moistens the skin, sensitizing it to any slight stirring of a breeze. The distant wailing of dogs and the gruff, throaty croaking of bullfrogs. The light, tantalizingly brief aroma of something floral that finds its way through the heavier scents of heated palm oil and wood smoke. The thick, pure darkness, unrelieved by streetlights and neon. The rustling of palm fronds against the side of our house.
Our house. Bernard and I signed the lease yesterday, and everything felt suddenly very real. For one thing, I now know how he managed to negotiate such a favorable lease -- he signed on for two years of hard labor as maintenance man and groundskeeper. It's so like him not to have mentioned that to me.
I'll be leaving most of my clothes here this time, along with some other things I'll need when I return. My sweat-kerchiefs. My fan. The flip-flops I wear around the property. Our not-so-fierce guard dog, Domelivo. My friend Bernard. And a good-sized chunk of my heart.
See you all soon.
Melody