Pow wow - Poverty amidst prosperity in Canada

I have spent the past few years highlighting issues of poverty in Ghana through this blog. Many times I get feedback that asks me to look at poverty where I come from.

The sad fact that many North Americans don't want to face, is that we have some populations who live in 'developing world' conditions right in our backyard.

On this summer's holiday back home in Canada, we ventured out to a pow wow. First Nations people across North America celebrate their annual festival - called a pow wow - in the spring and summer months. Pow wows consist of dancing, drumming and traditional outfit contests. There is singing, dancing, smudging, and sales of food, clothes, jewelery etc.












We had a great time. But we also visited the reservation that hosted the pow wow. And we were shocked, disappointed and amazed at the way people are living in 2011 in a country like Canada.

The following statistics from the Public Service Alliance of Canada speak volumes:

*One in four First Nations children live in poverty.

* First Nations people suffer from Third World diseases such as tuberculosis at eight to 10 times the rate of Canadians in general.

* More than half of First Nations people are not employed.

* One Aboriginal child in eight is disabled, double the rate of all children in Canada.

* Among First Nations children, 43 per cent lack basic dental care.

* Aboriginal children are drastically over-represented in the child welfare system

* High school graduation rates for First Nations youth are half the Canadian rate.

* First Nations youth commit suicide at five to eight times the Canadian rate. The suicide rate for Inuit youth is six times as high as in the rest of the country.
* Diabetes among First Nations people is at least three times the national average.

* Recent Census data shows that 23 per cent of Aboriginal people live in houses in need of major repairs, compared to just 7 per cent of the non-Aboriginal population.

* Overcrowding among First Nations families is double the rate of that for all Canadian families. A recent government study found that more than half of Inuit families live in overcrowded conditions. Some three-bedroom homes are known to house as many as 20 people.

* More than 100 First Nations communities are under boil water advisories right now, meaning they have little or no access to clean water for drinking and sanitation.

* More than half of First Nations and Inuit people are under 25 years of age. This is the fastest growing population in Canada If poverty is not addressed today, it will continue to negatively impact First Nations families for generations to come.

Ghana and Africa as a whole has become the target trendy destination for eco-tourism and voluntourism as well as paid volunteering. Why do we not look inward at communities in North America that lack education, potable water, sanitation, access to health care in their communities?!

The First Nations of North America are the elephant in the room that nobody wants to talk about. Maybe it's not cool to meet up with friends and say you volunteered for two months on a reservation....

Maybe the photos you bring back will not be as exotic as those from Africa. You will not have paid over $3000 for your trip and flown across the globe. But is it any less important?

Ignorance of native issues in Canada is rife. As a city girl, I had no idea how much land across Canada belongs to our aboriginal groups, no idea what their culture was or how it has been eroded. No clue about the poverty that characterizes most reservations. The first time I ever visited a reservation I was already in my late 30's. I'd already lived in Africa for years. And this place was less than a two hour drive from my suburban home... Is our ignorance an excuse? Where is the media coverage? Where is the education on the sordid history of the clash between the aboriginal groups and the colonizers that led to the state of affairs today? How can we all turn a blind eye to the dysfunctional relations that have allowed part of a modern society to slip down through the cracks into the silent abyss?

I would venture to say that it is incredulous that westerners feel the superiority to come to Africa offering help of various kinds, when they have not even looked at the gaping wounds in their own societies. After all - CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME!

Chale Wote - festival for the hungry?

For weeks my inbox has been bombarded with event invites, information, flyers and promotional blurbs about an upcoming Street Art festival in Accra. In Jamestown, the poorest, most densely populated ghetto in Accra. Not only was it strange to be getting email correspondence about a festival in Jamestown, but foreign embassies were involved and were even asking for volunteers for the day.

One of the website blurbs states:

The festival is free and open to the public with more than 2,000 patrons expected to attend. CHALE WOTE Street Art Festival is a collaborative effort produced with the help of the Ga Mashie Development Agency, the Foundation for Contemporary Artists, JustGhana, Attukwei Art Foundation, Pidgin Music, DUST Magazine, ACT for Change, The WEB, and Ehalakasa Poetry Slum.

My carefully constructed cynicism told me that the event was a disaster in the making or at best, a non-starter, but I agreed to ‘check it out’ with T, for old times’ sake – to celebrate the curiousity that has helped us to know Ghana so well through the years.

This Saturday was the big day. T and I piled into a rickety taxi, left the relative serenity of Osu, and asked to go to the prison (the main Jamestown fort being both the ‘hub’ of the daily activities, AND the oldest prison in Ghana). He obliged. As he honked and dodged along the bumpy roads, we sat, bright and scrubbed and carefully devoid of jewellery or purses, looking out at the increasing squalor, the tightly choked lanes, the throngs of passers-by, jostling between taxis, tro tros, head loads and knee high festering piles of rubbish. We were in the heart of Jamestown.

He dropped us at a random corner, which seemed just as good as any, and we nodded at the cluster of old men gathered on makeshift benches on the other side of the green swamp gutter. We entered a dirt square, bordered by concrete walls, that housed an unorganised mess of people under canopies, selling fufu and a sad array of ‘local crafts’, along with a brass band in matching yellow t-shirts. There were easily 200 children below the age of 10, stomping around the band, in a rainbow of school uniform colours, following the pied piper of Jamestown, a lanky guy, with red rimmed hipster glasses, a hand painted t-shirt and a wacky expression.

Then the pied piper saw us, motioned to his crew and within seconds they attacked. Hundreds of knee high sets of brown hands and faces, all over our arms and legs, shouting, chanting, laughing, pushing. “Obruni!!!!!!!”

“Oh no!” This was NOT on my agenda. I have no clue why he sent them to us, but just as fast as they’d arrived, he motioned for their retreat and they were off, marching in another direction, leaving us self conscious and confused; the imprint of tiny bare toes on our ankles and feet; in a thick cloud of dust.

We tried to find something interesting to keep us there, but alas, after T taught the seller of the ‘ancient African beads’, that most were in fact, less than 6 months old and from China and India, we wandered out of the square.

We stood forlorn on the street corner, a spectacle of white curiousity, while T consulted her list of activities, printed off from the numerous flyers. There were hopeful events listed there, such as spoken word readings, experimental theater, fashion circus, Brazilian fight dancing, bike and rollerskate stunting party, live music etc. Looking around at the complete lack of signs, vibe and such, and instead at the din of a usual Saturday afternoon in Jamestown, kids bathing naked at the roadside, mothers sweating, pouring the dirty water from the buckets of their lives into the open fetid gutters… I remained skeptical.

Just then, T spotted the sign for a project that the North American Women’s group has been donating funds. It was painted roughly by hand, “Jaynii Streetwise” at the edge of the lighthouse (a colonial legacy at the coast and edge of Jamestown’s grasp). We stood for a minute at the top of the huge stone steps that led downward and out of view. Before us was the beach, a sand the colour of toast, and beyond that the vast ocean, whose waves sounded so peaceful and so at odds with the mayhem of the neighborhood behind us. To our right, knotted masses of fishermen’s nets hung on the broken and decaying walls of what was once a colonial building. Now, the half enclosed crumbled walls were occupied by family upon family. The children ducked and dived between their mothers as the women bent over the weekend laundry buckets. We were essentially within a few feet of the private lives of others, as if looking into an ant colony in primary school science class. No one noticed us though, and we descended the stairs.

We were on the beach. A few concrete rooms at various stages of completion were dotted along to the left. Some were painted, most half built. Nothing at all was happening here. One got the impression that the idea of anything one day occurring here had been abandoned. (I had read online that there was a bar here with the same name two years ago, complete with thatched umbrella shaded tables, but nothing of this is left today).

As we rounded the front of the first building we saw some movement. The door opened and a beautiful woman in a white sleeping dress emerged - turns out she is Jay of Jaynii. Behind her, the dark room produced small faces, one by one peering out at the visitors. I noticed a colouring book and fresh bright crayons on the floor by the door and knew the donations had definitely reached here.

Jay seemed not the least bit surprised by our impromptu visit, and while she explained to T what was ‘going on’ with the project, I peered in further. There were new looking caramel coloured leather sofas, two of them, piled with bags and boxes and ladies and children. They just seemed so odd. So out of place in this little salty, stuffy room at the edge of Jamestown, on the beach.

Jay introduced us to her new baby, sleeping peacefully in a small bassinet. Then she took us on a tour. But there was nothing much to see.

“Here is the hostel for the street children” she explained. It was a shell of a building. Nothing in it. No windows. It will be completed by next week. Hmmmmm.

“50 children will stay here. We need to get them out of what they are living in – urgently.” I wondered what she meant by this. Up above us on the the main street, the children lived in small rooms with no windows. They scrambled for food, they barely made it from day to day. What would be different here in this ghostly set of rooms?

“Here are the washrooms and toilets, donated by NAWA. But we haven’t yet finished the toilets.”

“Where is the library?” T asked.

“It is there.” We did not see it.

“Are there books for the library?”

“Yes there are some books.”

We didn’t see those either.

Jay invited us to her upcoming wedding celebrations as well - and though we were flattered, I had to wonder - weddings in Ghana, as elsewhere are expensive affairs. Jay lived in this one tiny room with at least 12 other people - how would she afford such an event. I hoped she was marrying rich...

Back at the top of the steep steps we bumped into an American couple, kitted out with money belts, sunglasses, festival programs in hand. They looked about as silly as us, and they hadn’t found anything more going on than we had.

Eventually we came across a couple more ‘events’ on random side streets – which consisted of western highschool students (who had obviously volunteered), looking flustered and harassed, policing groups of wild local kids, in painting dead car tires, t-shirts and walls. It was chaotic and not very entertaining, but at least the kids seemed to be having fun or some semblance of it.

We found another group of kids and a few artists in a decaying courtyard as well. Some were painting the walls, and three young Jamestown boys with roller skates on were jumping rows of their brave friends on the floor. A smattering of expats wandered between them all, trying to find enough to stick around for. We couldn’t find enough and ended up at Osekan, a beach front bar just out of Jamestown’s reach.

With our feet up, we sipped cokes. I wondered where the French Ambassador was. Did the funders visit their event? Did the do-gooders hope and expect to create a fully organised festival in the midst of a slum where food and water are luxuries?

What is art when you are hungry? What place do we have in pushing concepts onto people. What if they would have appreciated a bag of rice instead of paint on the streets? Tomorrow’s bath water, tipped into the road, will wash it away, and nothing will be left but a sour memory of another failed project in Ghana.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I have removed all photos that I had added to this post, which were not taken at the event, nor did they accurately represent the event. Instead, I tried to borrow some great photos from Ghana blogger Nana Kofi Acquah - who managed to get some great shots. Unfortunately Blogger will not let me upload photos as there seems to be a bug of some sort with this over the past two weeks :( I strongly recommend visiting Nana's site.

Walking in My Shoes - a trip and a loss.

Right now, in a tiny fishing village on South Africa’s arid West Coast called Doringbaai, my favourite shoes are living an entirely new life.

With the affection others reserve for beloved pets, loyal and by your side through thick and thin, I regarded my little black flats. They have literally toured the world with me. I confess that I can’t remember what country I bought them in originally, but I quickly discovered that they were more comfortable than slippers, yet worked in almost any scenario. And being flat and pliable, they packed so well too!

I have always had a difficult relationship with shoes. My wide feet and painful hereditary bunions (what a word), (thanks for that mom), have always meant that I’ve had to respect function before fashion. Most heels are excruciating and dainty shoes with thin straps across the foot are OUT in my world.

Then I found THE SHOES. Made by Nike – but never to be found again, despite searching in every mall ever since – they were crafted from real soft leather, flat, chinese slipper style, with a solid, athletic hidden sole. They were my saviour in so many situations. My comfort on long walks, in shopping malls, on rough trails, on my feet for hours at trade shows, dinners, cocktails, long plane rides across continents, office hours, party hours, market jaunts across Africa. How many shoes can say the same?!

So naturally I took them along (as always) on my latest trip – a meeting in Johannesburg, followed by a tack-on, sanity restoring, leisurely holiday to Cape Town.



We decided once in Cape Town, that having toured most of the Southern Cape, it would be a new adventure to travel northward up the west coast. It was a great trip. Unlike the touristy garden route and numerous wine routes, the west coast is dotted with genuine, hard working fishing villages.

The roads out to the coast from the main highway, branch like spindles on a spiders web, each country road opening up to the raging waves of the Atlantic, with a small settlement at each, clinging to the history of fishing that has been their livelihood and defined them all forever. It was quaint, and sometimes beautiful. It was small wooden brightly painted boats and toothless smiles. It was Afrikaans signposts and tiny galleries, small local restaurants and a persistent mist that blanketed the area each evening by 5.




We walked and walked, we shivered basked in the sun, and investigated all the corners we could. We met some great locals. We ate some fresh calamari. We saw the sets of seasonal campers from local inland towns, come to the coast for their seaside holidays.
My little black flats accompanied us everywhere (there they were below, on one of our last days together).



And then we came to Strandfontein.



The northern most stop on our trip, before the 5 hour journey back down the main highway to Cape Town. It was a sterile little town, built up a sloping hill, populated by a mosaic of modern guest houses and holiday retreats. The beach was long and flat and gorgeous. We knocked on some doors, inquired about accommodation for one night, found a friendly flat manager and booked in to a full little apartment.

We asked of restaurants and discovered there were none. We were told that 5km down the road, in the ‘coloured village’ of Doringbaai, there was a great little seafood place, run by an Afrikaans ‘tannie’ (aunty) and we should head over to book. We took a drive over to have a look. It was a tiny, non-descript village, built on the small fishing industry, and teeming with workers from the next town.


South Africa’s history, as we all know, is uncomfortable to say the least, when it comes to races and race relations. All over the Cape, there are coloured towns and villages. These people are truly a mixed group, each carrying blood from the original Kung San, Afrikaans whites, Malay, Indian, black and others. Despite the fact that the wide mixes mean that everyone looks so different, they are a distinct group with a certain accent, culture and community. They refer to themselves as coloured, so I had to overcome my North American hesitation, given the history of the word on our side of the world!

The fact is, that the coloured communities remain relatively poor, despite apartheid ending close to two decades ago. Laws can change overnight, but societies take a lot longer!

The small, majority coloured community of Doringbaai, are mostly fishermen and many work as domestics in the houses down the road in Strandfontein.

As we arrived for check-in, we met two of them. Both were maids, taking a no doubt well deserved break, after a day of cleaning. We greeted them, put down our things and headed out. The next morning we saw them padding along the road to start work as we left, and waved. Little did I know I’d left a piece of myself behind in that bedroom, that would link us forever. My favourite shoes.

I’m of course assuming here, that anyone would want my old beaten up shoes, as people’s forgotten gems are surely part of the job perks of being a maid in Strandfontein. I can only hope that they were in fact discovered, scooped up and brought home, the 5km stretch down the dirt road, to a little block house, full of life and chatter, and that someone has their soft reassurance under foot, even now.

My shoes will never see another continent again. They will not tread long arrival halls in Toronto or Dubai. They will not find themselves tucked into a suitcase, off on another adventure, ready to hit the streets of a new city somewhere else.

They are home forever in South Africa’s West Coast. They will see harder times and more work, will be filled with sand and the scent of the ocean, and hopefully they will be a soft comfort.

They live in Doringbaai now.

Aid for Africa: End the Sick Cycle

When is everyone going to address the elephant in the room when it comes to the failure of aid to Africa?

African government regimes!!! The blatant corruption and flagrant disregard for their citizens is appalling, but what is worse is the complete lack of accountability when it comes to the shoveling of aid money directly into the coffers of these self serving governments, by the West.

Luckily Wikileaks did not spare Africa or the farse of the aid efforts in it’s recent exposures. In fact, some disturbing specific examples of how aid money goes into private pockets was highlighted.

British taxpayers should take a keen interest in the fact that over GBP20 million has been siphoned off of aid funds destined for peace keeping efforts in Sierra Leone and education in Kenya. Top ministers instead bought hordes of plasma televisions, rifles and thousands of other luxury items. Meanwhile the poor get poorer.

The most frustrating aspect of this story is that DfiD, the UK government’s development funding wing, is fully aware of the thefts, and believes that it is ‘within reason’. Within reason?! Is this what we have come to expect, rather nonchalantly from African leaders?

Isn’t that assumption inherently racist? Why do Bono and Bob Geldof spend hours in front of cameras in the West, appealing to the guilt in all of us, and expect zero accountability on the part of those who have the power in Africa?!

It is a blood boiling shame that aid has never had the aim of ending poverty or helping the powerless. It is an industry, a game that is played in huge nauseating circles, and success is measured in how many millions are spent on new Land Cruisers for the actual projects, and whether that number is higher than what the minister took for his private jet or holiday home abroad…. Germany recently took a stand, and held back their annual Euro200 million funding to the UN backed Global Fund Aids, TB and Malaria after a massive corruption scandal.

Given this sick cycle of corrupt fund transfers, I was pleasantly surprised to meet a representative in Ghana last week from the Acumen Fund. When I sat down at our pre-arranged lunch meeting, I had my suspicions, and expected another naïve, uninformed, overly trusting aid worker type, with a typical message of aid as the answer to Africa’s woes. Instead, I was intrigued and impressed. The Acumen Fund are a non-profit money lending organization that holds their recipients fully accountable for the loans they receive, and they are expected to repay over time, plus interest.

Finally, an idea that gives African entrepreneurs the respect they deserve, discourages the culture of begging and weeds out those who are just looking for another hand out.

The Acumen Fund has been extremely successful with this model in East Africa and India for years, and is just feeling the waters in Ghana. This will definitely be a new concept in a country which depends so heavily on grants and funding and even remittances from their citizens abroad.

One of Acumen’s success stories involves a Tanzanian who’s business plan was to manufacture bednets (to prevent malaria), which had previously been imported 100% from Asia. Currently 7000 women are employed in his factories – jobs which didn’t exist before – and he has fully paid back his loans with interest. He produces over 20 million nets a year and has become one of the largest employers in the region.



The money is always reinvested in new business plans. The Fund doesn’t stop there however, they recognize that due to the culture of poverty and hand outs, Africa has been left behind in entrepreneurial terms, and as such they recognize the need to train and mentor the business people they decide to support. This means the chance of success is far higher, and both parties stand to gain out of the partnerships.

These are the kinds of stories Africa needs. Not the headlines full of despots and dictators, rolling in dollar bills, burping, caviar breathed, and being fanned by servants, while the masses writhe like maggots in the shanty huts surrounding the palaces.

Aid must been seen for the cancer it is, and obliterated.

I just hope that more of the world starts to look at Africa and Africans as they would any other business partners. Able, accountable and ambitious.

The first barrel of oil: 15/12/10 - Ghana joins oil states of Africa

As of 10:06am today, Ghana has officially opened the valve to pump Ghana’s first oil and has put this country on the map, irrevocably as an oil producing country.

As I write this, my Ghanaian colleagues are huddled in the boardroom, in front of the TV sharing their reactions to the live program broadcasting the ceremony, where Ghana’s President Mills did the honours of turning the valve.



Many are excited. It’s palpable. What could this new beginning mean for Ghana? What possibility, opportunity, future is held in the frightening prospect of becoming Africa’s next big oil producer?

Being the skeptic that I’m apt to be after my 15 years in Africa, I think of the dangers. Oil in Nigeria virtually destroyed the agricultural sector — which now contributes only two percent of foreign exchange earnings. The same expansion of oil led to inflation and the growing culture of corruption. Ghanaian leaders are proving they are definitely not immune to such temptations…

David Throup of Online Africa Policy Forums Blog points out that:

Ghana urgently needs to improve its infrastructure: it needs new sewers and water pipes and ring-roads in Accra, a revamped electricity grid, improved generating facilities at Akosombo, improved rail-links from Accra to Kumasi and Tamale and on to Burkina Faso, and a renewed and extended network of secondary and tertiary feeder roads through the rural hinterland.

Others will argue for improving educational and health facilities. Such development spending would generate employment in construction and ancillary services, and hopefully promote sustained economic activity and growth. In a society where 60-70 percent of the population depends on smallholder agriculture for their livelihoods and 90 percent of the population in urban areas depends on the informal sector, such job-generating spending could be beneficial. But the money must be spent wisely and over a number of years if it is not to exacerbate inflation and exceed Ghana’s capacity to absorb the spending.

These are the first days of the rest of Ghana’s life. Ghanaians are proud and hopeful. The flag is flying high and the children are so full of possibility.

These are the days where the integrity of the politicians and the maturity of the decision makers will be tested. The results will follow in years to come. The judgments must be left to posterity.

Ghana Chief calls for end to poverty - buys $4.7m holiday mansion

As we made our way to work this morning, through the streets of Accra, traffic lights out, dodging potholes and veering past the maimed and legless beggars, the BBC radio featured a story about Ghana’s Ashanti King, the Asantehene, Otumfuo Osei Tutu II.

Specifically, that the regional king, once a council worker in the UK, now on his throne in Kumasi, has just bought a GBP3million (USD $4.723m) holiday home on 22 acres in England.



By this stage I should just laugh. I have been in Africa long enough to see that the old adage “absolute power corrupts absolutely” is alive and well. I have witnessed unfathomable poverty and watched while African leaders fill Swiss bank accounts with billions and buy fleets of private jets.

The funny thing is that this time, like all the others, I am not numb enough. I still think it is pathetic and disgusting. I haven’t learned.

In October, VSO (a UK voluntary agency that works in Ghana) touted a story about the Asantehene and how he was dedicated to reducing poverty.

About how he was determined to tackle the endemic problem in his region and across the country as a whole.

As the BBC reporter described the stables and lavish swimming pool as well as the full cinema room in his new abode, I couldn’t help but wonder how many lifetimes of earnings of hundreds of thousands of poor Ghanaians would equal such a purchase.

So here are a couple calculations:

The nominal GDP per capita in Ghana is $698 (or GBP443)

This means that it would take the average Ghanaian about 6,770 years to amass such an amount.

Or to look at it a bit differently, the Asantehene could forfeit his splurge on the holiday home, and cover 6,770 of his citizens annual wages...

The Asantehene has talked a lot about targeting education, with a focus on making it more accessible and of a higher quality.

I wonder if he considered this (source):

$10 will pay for a healthcare insurance policy for a child and his or her caregiver for 1 year

$25 will pay for school fees for 1 child for 1 year

$200 will purchase 150 textbooks for 30 children for 1 academic year

$500 will pay for antiretroviral therapy (ART) for 1 child for 10 months

As his majesty walks the cold marble corridors of his new mansion, someone should let him know:

189,000 Ghanaian children could have attended school for a year with that amount; children who otherwise have no means to go.

23,615 textbooks could have been donated to needy Ghana schools

9,445 Ghanaian children could have had a better quality of life, with antiretroviral therapy for a year.



As he sips tea with global royalty, I hope he hesitates before begging for donations to aid his impoverished country, lest he burn his tongue and bite his lip at the perversion of it all.

BLOG ACTION DAY: WATER FOR GHANA

Would you drink this? Would you allow your children to drink water like this? Can you imagine having no choice?



Today is Global Blog Action Day and the theme is water. It sounds like such a basic, simple thing. And it should be, but the reality is so different.


In July this year, the General Assembly announced that access to clean and safe drinking water is a basic human right.

Despite this, in Ghana today, (my own backyard), over 25% of deaths in children are caused by diarrhea from contaminated water. In these areas, "half the population get its water from wells, ponds and streams that often contain disease-causing microorganisms."

Here some boys collect drinking water from a rubbish dump - it leaves little question as to why illness and death statistics are so high:



The problem in Ghana is 'dire' according to UNICEF, and Wikipedia even features an article about the dismal water supply and sanitation issues in the country. They note that from data accumulated by the World Health Organization and the UN, only 4% of people in rural areas have access to a water supply to their houses, and only 2% have access to any form of sewage system.



The history of why and how it has been left to get to this state is long and ugly. It involves politicians and greed, disorganization and marginalization. Basically the needs of the rural poor have been on the bottom of every list.

But is anybody doing anything????? Well, yes. Luckily amidst the many ineffective NGOs, there are a few that make a difference, one community at a time.

Water for Ghana - helps villagers to come together and build their own tanks for a fresh supply of water.

PureHomeWater - an MIT initiative, run by American Susan Murdoch, distributes filters designed for small rural systems.

Green Cross Australia - has spearheaded a project to bring clean water to schools across Ghana.

Many other volunteers are raising funds to distribute filters on a micro level - after witnessing the conditions in Ghana's north.

But it's estimated that Ghana needs over $200million to kickstart the water and sanitation problems.

For the sake of the children, I hope some of the USD $13billion that Ghana has just been promised by China will go toward bringing fresh clean water like this (below) to every person in all of Ghana.

Child Witches Plague Ghana

Sometimes when I’m sitting at my modern desk, in my air-conditioned office, sipping a Diet Coke and writing e-mails to colleagues and clients around the globe, I’m inclined to forget that just outside my window lurks a world caught up in many ways in ancient and crippling beliefs.

Sometimes the headlines of the day for Accra catch my attention and bring the reality of the clash of worlds and cultures to a resounding crescendo.

Today’s headline did the trick: ‘Mother Goes To Jail For Whipping Daughter With Wire’. The story goes on to explain that a mother in Accra had beat her 5 year old daughter to the point where she was bleeding profusely all over her body – and the reason given was that the little girl was a witch. Seriously.

We're not talking the pointed hat, long black haired, wart on chin witch of Halloween fame, no - we're talking the unwarranted, unfettered prosecution of unassuming, poor, innocent people.

Modern Ghana is a place that witchcraft, or certainly the belief in witchcraft, is rampant. The belief forms a strong part of the cultural milieu in Ghana. Despite the work of missionaries over the centuries, despite the global village where such ideas are exposed as being ignorant and backward… witches are alive and well and apparently all over Ghana in the form of small children and poor elderly women.

Just Google the words ‘Ghana’ and ‘witch’ to see what is really going on.

Northern Ghana is home to over 10 massive witch camps – each housing up to 1000 people – the majority of these are young children. Soak that in. THERE ARE STILL WITCHES CAMPS IN GHANA IN 2010. All of these people have been banished from their villages for all sorts of crimes, including allegedly killing people who died from ‘mysterious illnesses’.

Some estimate that there are over 10,000 identified witches in the country.

Abuse and denial of basic human rights is the norm in these camps. As pariahs of society, none of these people can depend on the social catchments that the poor majority depend on – no one wants to help. And there is no recourse for these people either, since none of their crimes can be proven or disproved. An accusation is all it takes.



I found an interesting article written last week by Ghanaian journalist Caesar Abagali, where he compares the witchhunting in Ghana 2010 to the Salem witchhunts in the USA in the 1690’s. Ghana, there is a long way to progress if this is where we are at.

The bottom line is that in both cases, the fear of the masses is/was able to run rampant, and people accused and convicted without legal trials, as long as the accused were poor and powerless.

In both cases, the culture of the time, allowed for ignorance to prevail over science and reason, and many opportunists with charisma jumped on the wagon to stir up the fear and public sentiment. The result is that innocent and vulnerable people are victimized – and to a tragic extent.

Education and empowerment on a massive scale are the only solution. But sadly, it’s not only in the impoverished Northern villages where the ignorance exists – today’s story of that poor little girl in Accra attests.

When I lost my son to a mysterious 3 day illness some years ago in Accra, in our grief and disbelief, some of his Ghanaian relatives insisted that a curse had been raised, by way of finding a reason… And I’m sure that many a witchdoctor made his share of money off that fear, in claiming to exert revenge on the person, the witch, who caused this horrific event.

As usual – none of this ever helps the children. Not those we’ve lost, nor those who live under the wrath of adult ignorance. Ghana, what does this say about us?



To borrow the lyrics from Barry Manilow:

I am your child
Whatever I know, I learn from you
Whatever I do, you taught me to do
I am your child
And I am your chance
Whatever will come, will come from me
Tomorrow is won, by winning me
Whatever I am, you taught me to be
I am your hope,
I am your chance,
I am your child

Breakfast in America, lunch in Bhutan - What the world eats each week

Fourteen years ago I underwent 'food baptism by fire' in Ghana, having arrived in the country as a Canadian and shipped unceremoniously into the home of a local family, invited from day one to eat all my meals with them.

I spent the first few months missing diet coke and salads as well as the junk food I'd come to love, while getting used to a diet of spicy, palm oil slicked soups with mystery meat chunks and heavy carbs in the form of fufu, banku, plantain and cassava.

Though I lived with a 'rare' middle class family in Ghana, I was shocked by how cheap it was to feed the family of 5 - 7 including my son and I. Nothing came from a supermarket (might have had something to do with the fact that there were no supermarkets), and almost everything was fresh and cooked from scratch. No processed foods (except for the ever-popular but nasty sodium laced Maggi cubes used in every soup and stew!). No snacks or junk food. Beer and coke were offered up on special occasions and were quite cheap as well. (Ghana still uses the refillable bottle system and families have a case of each at home which can be returned and filled again for quite a reasonable price).

I used to meet up with fellow volunteers on the weekends and take trips to the one store filled with foreign groceries - Kwatsons (which later became Koala). We'd walk up and down the aisles and marvel at the things we recognised and couldn't afford... Iceburg lettuce at $20 a head, Frosted Flakes at $15... but for the most part the things were just not available.

Today, my life as an expat is quite different, as is the availability of goods from around the world, in the cosmopolitan city of Accra. We have a mall, supermarkets, choices. My diet today is quite different. Lots of salads and diet coke when I want it. Our weekly food bill has also skyrocketed.

To live a true expat life in West Africa, enjoying all the food comforts of home will run you between $200 to $350 a week for a family of 3 or 4. That doesn't include nights out at restaurants which constitute the majority of social interactions.

Considering that close to 50% of Ghanaians earn about $1 a day, or $30 per month, our $1000 a month on food is indulgent at best, grotesque at worst.

It has always amazed me how people manage their money here - how they can feed their families with such little resources.

I found an amazingly intriguing glimpse into the food lives of others, courtesy the great bloggess Skinny Gourmet, and just had to share.

This excerpt is from a book called Hungry Planet - in which a sampling of families from around the world open their homes up and show us exactly what they consume in a given week. Each family is photographed with their entire weekly food/drinks spread in their kitchen, and the amount spent is recorded to the penny.

Fascinating. It says so much about culture, about wealth and poverty, about who we are and where we come from. I wonder how I'd feel displaying my weekly shopping in the same way?


Germany: The Melander family of Bargteheide
Food expenditure for one week: 375.39 Euros or $500.07





United States: The Revis family of North Carolina
Food expenditure for one week $341.98





Italy: The Manzo family of Sicily
Food expenditure for one week: 214.36 Euros or $260.11




Mexico: The Casales family of Cuernavaca
Food expenditure for one week: 1,862.78 Mexican Pesos or $189.09





Poland: The Sobczynscy family of Konstancin-Jeziorna
Food expenditure for one week: 582.48 Zlotys or $151.27




Egypt: The Ahmed family of Cairo
Food expenditure for one week: 387.85 Egyptian Pounds or $68.53




Ecuador: The Ayme family of Tingo
Food expenditure for one week: $31.55





Bhutan: The Namgay family of Shingkhey Village
Food expenditure for one week: 224.93 ngultrum or $5.03




Chad: The Aboubakar family of Breidjing Camp
Food expenditure for one week: 685 CFA Francs or $1.23



So many things are striking - the sheer cost of living in Germany, the massive prevalence of process and take-away foods in America, the absence of all processed foods in Egypt and Bhutan and the glaring poverty of the family in Chad with just over $1 a week to feed a family of six.

Next time you head to the Piggly Wiggly or Safeway or Tescos or Pick n' Pay, think of this exercise. Where do you fit in?

Ghana - Gateway to the World's Worst Economies

I hate to be a party-pooper, what with all the hoopla around the World Cup, and the great cohesive vibe it creates, but it has come to my attention that outside the football stadium, all the recent great press about Ghana, and it's potential is just that - words. Empty, disappointing and ultimately false.

Ghana has been called 'the Gateway to Africa' and Wikipedia's Ghana article even states that:

"The economy of Ghana has a diverse and rich resource base, and as such, has one of the highest GDP per capita in Africa"


Apparently, Wiki along with alot of others have their facts wrong.

Why is the average Ghanaian poorer now that they were a few years ago? Why is there no manufacturing here? Why is the country still heavily dependent on remittances from Ghanaians abroad, and on the macro level from various Governments and NGOs?

The sad news today is that Forbes have published this year's list of the WORLD'S WORST ECONOMIES. And our beloved Ghana, the star of Africa is on that list.

Forbes clarifies the criteria for their selection as follows:

"All the countries on this list have at least one trait in common: Their governments discourage private investment--and economic growth--through policies of crony capitalism, expropriation or arbitrary enforcement of the laws. That makes it difficult to generate hard currency to pay off government debt and discourages citizens from investing in education to improve their own economic lot."

This does not sound like the Ghana that is promoted by the development community and the politicians alike. This does not sound like the Ghana my fellow bloggers embrace and adore. This sounds like the harsh reality of numbers. The fact that corruption, at the end of the day, cannot be hidden completely. This sounds like the day of reckoning, when all the political dogma and happy clappy optimism flies out the window and is replaced by cold hard facts.

Here is the description of Ghana from Forbes article:

"GDP per capita: $671
Inflation rate: 16%

Bauxite, the world's largest manmade lake, a 1-gigawatt hydroelectric plant and now offshore oil. Ghana's got it all, except a functioning economy. Persistent electricity shortages have sidelined the massive Valco aluminum smelter and the government of Ghana must privatize several money-losing state-owned enterprises to reduce its budget deficits, which run close to 10% of GDP. Oil revenues are expected to flow next year from offshore fields, being developed by Anadarko Petroleum and others. Perhaps the government will use the money to stabilize its finances instead of launching another spending binge."



Ghana is accompanied by countries like Liberia and Sierra Leone, ravaged by decades long civil wars, and Zimbabwe - a country crippled under the world's most evil dictator. 9 out of the 10 countries are African.

I was surprised to see Ghana on such a list. Afterall, we've had decades of peaceful leadership, numerous democratic elections, natural resources in abundance - from bauxite to gold and now oil... What is Ghana's excuse?

The overwhelming message from this report to Ghana is simple mismanagement. The problems, it states, are mostly homegrown. We can't blame the world for our troubles Ghana - this embarassing state of affairs must be dealt with and faced. Otherwise, next year's oil payload will most definitely lead to more greed and mismanagement, and Ghana may slip further instead of shining as it should - as the star of this floundering continent...

Ghanaian refugees flee by the thousands

As we head out of Ghana tomorrow for a two week reprieve in the windy chill of Cape Town, 'on the road again' as they say... I read today that Ghana has it's first refugees (estimates run about 3,500), pouring out of Northern Ghana into neighboring Togo. The people who have fled are amongst the country's poorest, and are claiming human rights abuses and chieftancy disputes in the hostile dry semi-desert of the north.

As we prepare to board the 747 that will carry us over half of the continent in comfort, I wonder if our refugees traveled like this?:

Bad Dogs and Johnny Paul Tireless

The streets of Freetown...

Welcome sign at Lungi International Airport. Apparently Sierra Leone has a Secretariat dedicated to 'attitudinal and behavioral change'...


A custom designed gate on the streets of Freetown.


Typical 'sidewalks' crumbling - people are quite adept at dodging the cement chunks and gutter openings...


The royal statue at the gates of my hotel, the Kimbima... (one of the newer and better hotels that touts itself as a 5 star)


Piled and rotting rubbish and the threat painted on the wall, warning people not to piss here...


More rubbish and graffiti.


A teddy bear sale above the gutter on a main street sidewalk. So cute! Just wondering who in Freetown has the funds, time or energy to buy used plush toys from the roadside...



A typical glimpse of a family house compound. I love all the colours. Laundry, buckets, pots, cups, people, all parts of the busy whole.


Avocado seller.


Childhood in many parts of Africa is about hard work and co-parenting can start by age 5. Here a big sister carries her sibling on the long walk to school.


The mobile phone companies signs provide decoration across the country in many villages. Fresh coats of pain are offered to poor and dilapitated buildings, at the cost of free advertising for the Cellco...


Love the name of this business...


Waterloo Street.



A bunch of guys ... lots of waiting around.


More 'free' paint jobs for tired walls...


Lots of corrugated tin structures...


Amerikin Enterprises...





Growth, Togetherness, Happiness. The promises of yet another mobile phone operator.