Dry, savannah-like, deserted no-mans land reaching to the horizon. When
you imagine being on the road in Africa that is what most of us would imagine.
Give or take the occasional elephant or mud-hut village of course. This weekend Karin and I went on a little
trip again, this time to the east from Accra, to Ada Foah, a little town right
on the edge of land were the Volta river flows into the sea. The view from my
window in the crowded tro-tro was just like Africa how you imagine it: dry,
savannah-like land as far as the eye can see, with the occasional (dry) tree
and village in the distance. However, surprisingly, it wasn’t no-mans land. Frequently
no more than a half built structure of a building, or a fence (typically only
one-sided) with a ‘keep-off’ sign, indicated that this piece of land in the
middle of nowhere was property of ‘The Frimpong family’ or ‘University College
Central’. No neighbours, no near-by village, no water, no nothing, just some
lonely bricks piled up in a brief spree of ambition. I really wonder what
people thought when buying that land and building that foundation, really...
why there? Or actually just: why?
A four square meter wooden shack called ‘God’s First Fashion Centre’ was
the first thing that indicated that we were coming near Ada. Ada is basically a
quiet fishermen town with almost more churches than streets. We stayed in a
small two-person hut near the ocean, on the quiet side of town. It is funny how
small things like a shower (one I could actually stand under!) with good strong
water flow can be so satisfactory. Saturday we spent pedalling a wooden canoe
(which we rented from a fisherman at the jetty) around one of the islands in
the river delta. The fact that we wanted to paddle ourselves was quite amusing
to the guy (those crazy obruni’s!) but we could tell we weren’t the first
tourists to have asked for that. The area was beautiful! Small villages on the
waterside with stark naked children enthusiastically waving at us while having
their daily bath in the river, fisherman pulling the nets back in, quiet mangrove
greenland with some birds, and a group of jumping silver fishes in our track,
sparkling in the sunlight. To finish off we headed to a beach hut playing
music, where we found a bunch of other tourists scattered out on the beach, as
well as local Ghanaians on a weekend trip. Quite a contrast after our morning
stroll through the almost deserted town!
But before you start thinking I do nothing but exploring Ghana, a bit
more on my weekdays. The last couple of weeks I’ve been going to the antenatal
care clinic. Because I don’t have full clearance yet from the ERC (I still need
to get my informed-consent-form translated, but it’s all going on African Time),
I couldn’t really start interviewing women at the antenatal clinic yet.
However, since my interviews with the staff are in English, I figured that it
wouldn’t harm just to start with that. So after a couple of days of working
along with the midwifes to do the standard check-ups of pregnant women and
new-borns, depending on the day, (of course combined with plenty of
observation...) I really started to get to know the midwifes and asked some of
them for an interview. Although it was quite difficult to really go deep during
the interviews (the whole concept of a clinical trial is new to them), I am
quite happy with the info I have so far. I am looking forward to doing
interviews with the pregnant women though... Although that will be even more
difficult since I will be working with a local female
translator/research-assistant (sounds very official) and I won’t be able to
really guide the interview. The good part of the research-assistant is the fact
that she will also do the transcribing and translation of the recordings (which
is an incredible boring and annoying job). Yay!
Besides the normal working time at the ANC, there are some other
activities that I just spontaneously take part in. Last week for example there
was a neonatal resuscitation training for the midwifes (they don’t have the
luxury of a paediatrician on-call). Very good for refreshing my memory, but
also interesting to observe. The trainer was one of the midwifes that I did the
training with during one of my first weeks, organized by an UK/USA NGO. So I
knew that she had learned that some things (like sucking-out the babies throat
and nose with a non-sterile balloon suck-thingy after all deliveries) were
proven useless or even harmful (increasing the risk of laceration of the airway
because of the deepness they do it, as well as increasing the risk of infection
because if the dirt that accumulates in the balloon), but she somehow managed
to say that new knowledge within the same sentence that she advised everybody
to still suck-out all neonates! Old
habits die hard, I guess.
This week I get to go to a one-day Gynaecology and Obstetric Millennium
Development Goals Conference in a fancy hotel here in Accra, definitely looking
forward to that!
It is interesting how fast you adapt to the way things go somewhere.
While during the first weeks my hands were itching to give the once white coats
of the doctors a good scrub to make them white again instead of the redish-dusty-grey
they are, I today noticed that my own white coat is not as clean as it used to
be either. I realise that I remind the midwife when she forgets to ask the
obligatory donation of blood by a family member of a new pregnant client (the
only way they can keep the blood bank running). Also, I’m not surprised anymore
when the midwife gets a bit of extra money pushed in her hand after the
consult, or on the other hand the request for money when some kind of
examination is performed. Not only is every speculum (‘eendenbek’) bought/rented
for a vaginal examination, also the hospital maternal health folder is paid in
cash, as well as the plastic cover for the physical exam bench, which the
patient is supposed to bring everywhere she goes in the hospital. Medicine
needed in the hospital needs to be fetched by a relative at a big pharmacy
(sometimes a 20 min tro-tro drive away, longer when the traffic is bad). All
this, even with some sort of general health insurance at place.
Also more wide-ranging things, like saying ‘sorry’ for things you can do
nothing about, but are just generally bad luck. The other day I scraped my knee
in a tro-tro (my long legs never match the bench size) and when a lady in the
back of the bus saw the tiny drop of blood on my knee while I was climbing out
of the tro she prodded my shoulder, and very genuinely said: “I’m sorry!”. Like
there was anything she could have done about it! And this is just one of the
examples, it could have also been that the battery of my phone died (“I’m sorry!”)
or that the stapler ran out of staplers (“I’m sorry!”).
Nevertheless, there are some things I can not get used to. Like the hissing
sound people make here to get someone’s attention. It’s a mixture between the
sound someone makes when rolling their eyes at something (‘tssss...’), when you
are unpleased with something (‘tssss.... you must be kidding me!’), when a
constructor is trying to draw the attention of a hotty (‘psst! Lekker ding!’),
or when someone is secretly trying to sell you something on the street (like in
India the “tsst! Madam! You want grass?”). With me it is just associated with
indignity or something, I don’t know, but if I use it (which unfortunately is
quite necessary sometimes) I try to compromise it with a very big and kind
smile... which must seem hilarious for Ghanaians. The Weird Wide-grinning
Whispering White Woman. Yup, that’s me.
Finally I just have to point out that this has been my first month in
Ghana already (yes! That long already, time flies!). I’m looking forward to the
rest!
Take care and until next time!
Ps. I’ll post some pictures that actually have me on them later. Since I’m
usually the one behind the camera those are on Karin’s camera...
Meat is also sold at the market... |
Well? Are you? |
Karin in action |
Walking through a sugar cane plantation with two French girls we met |
Big pots used for rum made out of the sugar cane |
Sister Love :) |
After 'landing' our canoe was soon confiscated by some boys |
Striking a pose... |
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