Technology Consulting in the Global Community

We left Saturday afternoon, our mission clear: A quick 3 hour bus ride to Aflua (the border town) and then a short walk into Lome, Togo where we would spend the night in a quaint hotel by the ocean, speaking French and eating delicious cheese and bread, listening to live music. All this and cheaper visa renewal too?

The average Ghanaian visa is good for 60 days in country. Then a person must go to the embassy and pay $50 to renew it, or leave the country and come back. All told, a trip to Togo is actually cheaper than the embassy fees because at the border it is $20 and a quick stamp if you have a multiple entry visa (a point to which we’ll return, shortly.) My good friend Julia was facing her 60^th day in Ghana, and I realized I too would have this predicament in just a few weeks. Who wouldn’t opt for a holiday weekend in Togo?

We charged happily towards the border in an air conditioned bus that outdoes even the bus Adrienne and I took to Cape Coast. This bus had white pleather recliner seats and played a Ghanaian movie; a story to which I became so engrossed that I was mad when the bus ride ended and the movie wasn’t over! Disembarking from the bus, we followed the flow of people towards the border guards’ offices, dodging mud-holes and taking pictures of the “Bye Bye Ghana” sign arching over the road. A plain clothed man hissed and followed us to the passport check point to tell a guard that I’d taken a picture and they both demanded to watch as I deleted it. This should have been a clear omen.

As soon as the passport authority took my passport she shook her head saying that if I left Ghana I couldn’t come back until Monday morning. I have a single entry visa and if I stayed in Togo until Monday morning the Embassy would open and I could get a new $40 visa. This is where the bribe comes in— from experience in a few other African countries I didn’t hesitate for a second in asking if I could just ‘pay for one night’. They all flat out refused. In hindsight I can’t believe I asked (inadvertently condemning corruption!) and I’m relieved they were honest and wouldn’t bend the rules for me. It was clear I was not To go.*

Julia looked at me, then at the guards (both of us knowing she had to go to Togo to get that stamp) and said “I’m just going to pick something up.” They stamped her out and I promptly sat down to wait, not knowing what she would go over and do, or how long it would take.

Only ten minutes of sitting on the guards’ front porch and watching the endless people and cars go by, and Julia was back! She said that on the Togo side it was not as the tourist books or her friends had described it—in fact two guards (who made her feel really uncomfortable) told her the visa would cost twice as much but not to worry they could find someone to exchange her money, and where was her husband to escort her? She immediately asked for her passport back, turned around, and walked back to Ghana. She explained to our friends the Ghanaian guards that it didn’t work out in Togo after all, so they stamped her back in to Ghana.

We walked away from the border, digesting what had just happened. Since the sun was rapidly setting and we know better than to travel after dark, we finally negotiated a shared car with another traveler and left by 7:00. In a way we’d accomplished the core of the mission, so we were in decent spirits to begin the journey back to Accra. We also couldn’t stand Aflua which was similar to most border towns; dirty with dust and exhaust, people all screaming at once to get in their car, or get out of the way, or buy their wares, etc. At 9:45 pm we were able to begin laughing about the ordeal and acknowledge our disappointment.

Fifteen minutes later, it started pouring. We knew rolling into Accra at 35 mph in torrential rain was the icing on the cake so we were thankful just to be home safely. Our car dropped us a block from our apartment, so we stood under an overhang and waited for the rain to let up enough that we could walk home. As the downpour made the streets and ditches into rivers, one could feel a sense of cleansing; for us it was of the weird spirited day that was finally over.

In the end Julia got her stamp and it actually cost nothing. I mean she never handed over money to obtain the stamp. I don’t want to talk about the time and effort that went into getting that stamp but including the road trip adventure and a good story to tell, even paying for my trip, Julia got that stamp for $10 cheaper than by standing in line at the embassy!

*Yes, I fully intended every redundant usage of Togo and ‘to go’ or ‘not to go’? Its just too great to ignore.

I remember being nervous about having to interact with children. I’m terrible with kids. I’m scared of them… and conscious of whether they will like me. I guess they can sense that I am scared because all my interactions with them end with them crying or hating me.

On our first day at Mathru, a small girl greeted us with a flower, and I had the urge to be cheerful, pat her head and say Thank you… but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Later on in the day, when they were demonstrating the use of the slate and stylus, I tried to pick one up to see for myself. Immediately, one girl (partially blind) turned around, took away the stylus from me and gave me a stare. She also kept looking back from time to time to make sure I wasn’t stealing the stylus. I almost gave up trying to interact then.

With time, they got more comfortable with us, as did we with them. I had wanted these kids to like me, and it wasn’t so hard because they are disciplined and taught to be nice. I had never previously invested so much effort into talking to kids, but I did this time and I have had my share of rewarding moments. One of those would be this boy (really cute!) calling me “Aysha-akka”, akka meaning sister in Kannada (I have a video of this moment!). Another time, I was *trying* to teach a kid how to dribble a basketball and I enjoyed so much…he was so happy to hold a ball, and to do just about anything with it. We played catch for a while, and then he continued dribbling… running behind the ball when it fell out of his hand, following the directions (left, right, straight, stop) to find the ball, and to continue dribbling right at the spot he found the ball. I also played with a couple other students, and each interaction was equally rewarding.

The night of our sleep over at Mathru, some students finished their dinner and came up to us to say goodnight and initiate a conversation. They asked us if we had our dinner etc… and they also said a lot of things in Kannada which we really couldn’t understand. I found that really special because during the day, they are so busy and we have to interrupt them to talk to them, and it’s almost like they have to talk to us. At night, they came to us at their own will. It meant a lot to me that they were comfortable around us and liked us!

I find that I am more easygoing and happy around kids now than before. In fact, I used these skills on Raghav (Ms. Muktha’s son). He was initially really shy to be around us, but I initiated a game with him and soon enough, he wanted to play more. Wee!

Over the past few weeks, we have been demanding a lot of time and information from Ms. Muktha, and let me tell you, she is a really busy person. Her phone rings every 10 minutes… even on a Sunday. So she invited us (Erin and I) to stay over at Mathru so that she can give us her undivided attention and tell us more about Mathru.

Spending the night there made such a difference. She took us to her home as she didn’t want to give the teachers (who are also visually impaired) more tension with us staying at the school. The first night we stayed there, she called upon a bunch of students and we interacted with them. Ms. Muktha is very frank with the children, and her chatter makes the environment friendly and fun. She talks to them about difficulties in education, their interests, ambitions, and jokes around with them about their favorite movie stars, and even boyfriends/girlfriends (Some students were really shy!). She included the teachers in the conversation and the whole community became really comfortable around us by the end of it.

Ms. Muktha’s home is about a 5 minute walk away from the school. At home, Ms. Muktha cooked us a home-made meal and also allowed us to try our hand at making chapatis. She quickly got annoyed (in a fun way!) at us clicking pictures and being really slow and took over in under 5 minutes. Since the power was out, we had a candle light dinner with really yummy healthy food.

Our walk home with Ms. Muktha and her son Raghav

Erin’s chapati

Candle light dinner

During dinner and even later on, she told us a lot of stories about Mathru – some shocking, some sweet – that helped us understand Mathru and the people behind it from a different perspective. What we heard only made us love the institution more. The stories also made me realize that the blind lead a life very similar to the sighted, and that a LOT has gone into making the institution what it is today. Ms. Muktha telling us these stories that she’d rather not tell with everyone else around made us feel like a part of a close-knit group.

We kept talking till late in the night, and ended it by watching a Hindi movie Taare Zameen Par (which is about a dyslexic child). We came back from the first stay over completely refreshed, and with a new sense of the kind of difficulties the school is facing. It also helped to strengthen our relationship with the teachers, and the students started to get used to our presence. We felt like we had accomplished a lot by spending the night there.

Ms. Muktha’s so fun… she has taken us out for walks stating “stop working all the time… take a break!”. During the walk, she would tell us so many things… about India, her life, her son, her family… but most of the stories revolve around Mathru! She then took us shopping, and insisted that we buy something. We tried to refuse but she was so persistent and her choices are amazing. So Erin got two Indian dresses (salwar kurtas) and I got a top (kurti). She also stopped to get us tender coconut and mangoes! Our relationship with Ms. Muktha extends beyond work…her love and care is incomparable to none other… she treats us like her ‘daughters from abroad’. She trusts us, and the work we will give her… and we hope not to disappoint!

Sunday was a great day for sailing. Not many days aren’t - even a few rainshowers can’t keep a good sailor down in Palau (it’s true… stay tuned). Since it’s hard to communicate the vivid surroundings, sit back, relax (palau style) and enjoy the slideshow:

A friend of ours from the hospital invited us out on his boat, but to get there we had to load up the small boat first to get to where it was docked. I was a big help:

After loading up the sailboat it was out of the harbor and on to the bay. But first, we had to navigate through the narrow channel dredged by the Japanese back in the day:

Once we’re out in the bay Nirav and I take to the sails for the first time and rig that boat right! Too bad there wasn’t much wind. Soon enough, however, we drifted to our destination. I’m a big help again, this time with navigating:

When it comes time to dock, Nirav’s there to step up and hook the buoy! Great job, Rav!:

We arrive at our destination and survey our spot:

If you get real close to the rock islands, then you get a great look at some of the life aquatic. Here, get a little closer (and YES, the water really is that blue):

after some vigorous snorkeling we’re ready for lunch! Unfortunatley, the sky is also ready for a sprinkle. Soggy sushi, anyone?

We were already wet, anyway. Before we knew it, it was approaching sundown and it was time to head back. What a day!

So after several weeks here we had one of our first formal presentations . While by no means stressful (it’s pretty hard to stress here even if you try) it was somewhat of a milestone and afterwards I felt a little drained. So what’s a girl to do to relax on a tropical island sans beaches? Well, as ‘Field of Dreams’ would have you believe - if you build it, they will come. Except in this case, instead of a a baseball field, it’s a beach, and instead of the ghosts of the baseball hall of fame, its tourists and expats.

I’m talking, of course, about Palau Pacific Resort, a lovely island resort that provides memberships for locals - kind of like a country club. After holding out for a while thinking that once I had a bike I could go anywhere and do anything (p.s. - palau has about 2 roads - what I really need is a boat!) I decided that if I was going to relax on a white sandy beach I’d have to join. So, after a hilly half-mile bike ride from the hospital, I enjoyed my first afternoon as a members at Palau’s premier luxury resort (I think Nirav thinks I’m a sell-out- he’s still sticking with the bike pipe dream).

It couldn’t have been more typical, either. A towel handed to me without even asking, I headed to the riviera-type covered chaise lounges on the beach to drop my things off and then commenced my first full immersion in the Palaun waters! It was low tide so I had to swim out to where the reef begins. The waters are so clear here that you don’t even need a snorkel to enjoy the amazing exotic fish swimming around you like you’re nothing more that a buoy in their wake. After that, there was some beach volleyball action and then the weekly Wednesday cocktail hour complete with traditional Palauan dance!

Soon enough, however, sunset was fast approaching, with a mean-looking thunderstorm on its heels so I had to get on my bike and battle the steady incline back up from whence I came. Maybe it was the snail’s pace back up that beast of a hill, or maybe it was the serentiy afforded by my brief getaway, but the ride back was as Palaun as PPR is tourist. Chugging up that hill (I think I can, I think I can!) I passed a group of Palauan boys playing handball on the hill. Due to the impending storm, the air was thick and the smell wafted between the fish smoking on the grill one minute and the ripe farm the next.

Further along, after I vanquished the hill, I took it easy, taking cues from the napping stray dogs that are a fixture here. To my right, I can see the typical gorgeous Palauan sunset taking shape over the Rock Islands. To my left I note a Palaun gentleman training his roosters (one can guess what for…). Arriving back home, I felt more grounded than I have in a while. All it took was, among other things, a little time underwater at low tide… I think I made the right decision - do you? Maybe this will help:

a) view from the beastly hill on the way…

b) me at the beach at PPR:

c) drumroll, please: the sunset:

Yesterday we were in the stadium as the Ghana “Black Stars” trounced Gabon 2-0! It was a World Cup qualifier match, and the pressure was on Ghana because last Sunday night Gabon beat them! We met with fellow Heinz student Nana Bray who is Ghanaian and has an internship here in Accra this summer, and it was a sweet to reunion! We sat in about the 15^th row (the best seats I’ve ever had to a professional sports game) where the lower levels have Plexiglas like a hockey stadium you can see the action up close and personal!

The stadium, which is only two years old, was impressive. (I kept commenting to Nana that this stadium is nicer than the Coliseum where the Oakland A’s play)! Besides for the great seats and the final score, the best part was being amongst such true fans. Noisemakers were constantly blaring, and people were decked out– flags became scarves and capes and dresses, faces were painted, hair was dyed, and of course we saw some people painted head to toe in Ghanaian colors… even Adrienne was wearing a Black Stars hat by the time we left!

We expected the crowd to go crazy at the game end.  As it turned out, everyone was celebrating, but reasonably.  It was invigorating to be in the midst of such dedicated and serious spectators, and most of the call contesting (translated by Nana) was hilarious. Hey, I even became a haggler by the end of the game!  The roar when the Black Stars scored gave me the chills, and hearing the global soccer/football song “Ole” was priceless. It was an awesome Sunday afternoon in Accra.

Our work at Ashesi progresses– with or without internet connectivity which has been incredibly slow, sometimes nonexistent this past week!

We’ve done an organizational assessment, an analysis of alternatives, and a scope of work and work plan. Now we’re implementing our work plan. Last week we had an interesting Skype call with a man in Silicon Valley. Technology wasn’t necessarily on our side that day (poor audio quality, dropped calls, etc), but the essentials were communicated and we came away reinvigorated that there is a solution out there that will work!

Without naming the software, I can say that we are enthusiastic about a couple of options. It seems there are open-source solutions with Ashesi’s desired functionalities, and within their budget. We’re still researching the major options, focusing on establishing contact with each of the companies whose products we are considering. Trying to have dialog with the companies in the United States or finding their satellite offices in Africa and communicating with them, is a challenging task. This process is especially important as it sheds light on the companies’ ability to support a client in Ghana. We’ll be narrowing the options to a couple of top choices before downloading them and letting Ashesi users decide which one works best for them (in a few weeks).

We lead relatively calm and ‘regular’ lives here. We work 8 hour days, taking lunch in the cantina with colleagues, making dinner at home and going to bed early…and we walk to work everyday. Since popping in one morning at 6:45 am to see if I could be ready to walk to work in 15 minutes (who could be ready for work in 15 minutes!?) Adrienne has never asked again.  Realizing how much money I was wasting paying for a taxi each morning (equivalent to an hour at the cyber cafe) I kept asking her to describe the route so I too could walk. She couldn’t explain, so one day I watched her and Joy from our balcony where I could see them just long enough to have confidence in following their steps. Since then I’ve walked to and from school everyday!

During the walk to work, I’m pretty sure I’m not mistaken for a local. Different from Adrienne (who can pass for a Ghanaian if she doesn’t talk) while I pass through the police family housing, I think it is pretty clear to all parties that I’m a foreigner.

I am aware of all the eyes on me (I admit it’s a pretty random road for a white girl to walk alone every morning) but for the most part there is no harassment, and occasionally even some friendly greetings. Its too bad I don’t understand the conversations in Twi and Ga going on around me, however I do know the word for ‘white girl’ or stranger and I hear that pretty often, “Obrunie…good morning!”

I am foreign and I’m reminded often. I prefer to take the less traveled roads and I detest nothing more than being judged by appearance alone…but here I have no choice! Being white in Africa naturally leaves little room for ‘blending in’. In fact I feel forced into a certain box of existence where no matter how hard I try to step beyond it, the box walls are enforced on every side. When it comes to walking alone (even on the beaten path) or negotiating reasonable prices, white skin is fatiguing!

This weekend Adrienne joked (but she was being serious) that I should hide in the bushes until she negotiated a fair taxi price to get home!

Saturday, June 7, 2008 – Monday, June 23, 2008

I haven’t been able to write the blog for the last week. It’s because I’ve been busy the whole time either working or having fun at MSRI. Saurabh and I have been adding useful features and interesting games to the Braille Tutor over the past week. This week, we will be starting work on a new project with MSRI aimed at Braille printers.

We visited Mysore over the first weekend and experienced the rich cultural heritage there. Mysore used to be the capital city of the state of Karnataka before Bangalore. We left our house early in the morning and visited a number of places in Mysore before returning to our house at night. We got to see some stunning palaces, temples, gardens, and even took a boat ride on a local lake. In the evening, we visited the Vrindawan gardens which are located close to a dam.

The past week at MSRI has been very eventful. We’ve been working on making enhancements to the Braille Tutor software and performing fixes that would help the children. On Thursday, we were taken to watch a Tamil movie in “Gold Class.” I know how to read and write Tamil but I can’t really speak or understand very well (interesting, I know). So I was able to get some of the humor in dialogue although you didn’t need to know Tamil to understand the movie.

On Friday, we had a farewell party for the interns who were leaving. We had a decent turnout although it was initially hard to get everyone to come. I DJed for the party and played a lot of funky / electro house. It was fun watching the people enjoy themselves. Erin knew that my birthday was a couple of days away and I had told her to keep it a secret. But she ended up turning the party into a surprise birthday thing for me. The party was fun and I would like to have an Old Skool 70s / 80s / 90s night where I can play some good old dance music.

The past weekend, we visited a school near Mathru. Every week, a group of students from Mathru is taken there to participate in recreational activities such as yoga and music classes, and sport training. Each student chooses a particular sport that he/she wants to play. I played cricket with the students and worked with the coach to teach them some of the basics. It was fun and the students shared a great enthusiasm for the sport.

a corner at the Mathru School

gate to the palace in Mysore

boating in Mysore

I’ve been procrastinating…yea, this post is one that I knew I must write, although it’s taken me weeks to put it together…

Today marks 4 complete weeks for Kayt and I. Since we’ve been here, though, I’ve seen very few connections between Africans and African-Americans. (Ask someone else, and I’m sure their story will be different.) It’s been disappointing to say the least. But what should I expect I guess? My family has been in the U.S. since at least before the Civil War.

Then out of nowhere one day, I got a surprise.

Kayt and I talk from time to time, and I’ve found that she’s very knowledgeable about African fabrics and attire. I am very impressed in that regard. I guess we may have been walking somewhere, and we spotted a man wearing traditional garb. She’d spent two years in Cameroon in Peace Corp, and when we saw the man she said, “That’s what most men in Cameroon would wear everyday. It’s called a bubu.” Oh really, I thought. I asked her what did women call theirs. She responded, “A mumu.” I thought my ears fooled me, so I asked her again. She responded a second time, “A mumu.” What?! She couldn’t be serious. I told her that some of my relatives used that word. But I couldn’t help but second guess what she said…I had to get a second opinion.

So on the second day that Joy and I walked to school, I asked Joy about it. “So Joy, the men call theirs a bubu, right?” “Yes yes,” she responded. “And the women call theirs a mumu?” Her initial reaction sort of suggested she’d forgotten and then suddenly she said, “Yes yes, it’s a mumu.”

What?! Now I was really in disbelief. I think I may have been no more than 5 years old when I first heard the word mumu. Scenes like being at MawMaw’s house (my maternal grandma) in the summertime replay in my mind. Aunt Betty, her sister, had not started working full-time yet; she would come over MawMaw’s and they would shell peas together. They would laugh, joke, and gossip. They would sometimes be barefoot…but they would always be wearing what Aunt Betty called a “moomoo.” Of course, at 5 years old, I thought “moomoo” was just a word they made up. I can even remember MawMaw’s elderly neighbor, Mrs. Picola, using “moomoo.” That was pretty much all she wore. She even made me one when I was in the 3rd grade.

All of these memories played in my head once Joy said, “Yes yes, it’s a mumu.” After all the studying about slavery in American History, reading about Sinke’s triumph in Amistad, and watching an African-American revisit her past in Sankofa, I realized I’d learned only so much. Yes, studying, reading, and watching had only taught me so much! But “Yes yes, it’s a mumu” was so empowering for me. I can honestly say I know my people are from this continent.

Lessons learned since first blog:

1. Visit as many homes as you can (all hosts treat guests like royalty)

2. Start saying no to extra helpings before you actually mean it because you will get served at least 3 more times after your first no

3. Large Pizzas in India are the same size as small pizzas in America

4. You can have paneer on anything. (Erin can give more details)

5. Someone needs to bring GOLD CLASS to the United States.