HS around the world

Finally this blog to center the home school movement within the greater discourse on world education, is finally blogging about....drum roll...home school.

Our home school experience  has gone through many great changes in the past six months, which partly caused my silence.

First, we moved to SC, another great historical state. During our time here, we will be studying African American history, visit Guallah Island, Charleston, Catawba Reservation and the Brattonsville living history center.

SC/NC are an extension of the West African coast. They are a continuation of El Mina, Cape Coast and part of the slave dungeon history. They answer the questions what happened to those Africans? What did they become? Did they thrive? The coasts tell one part of the story and SC/NC tell the other half.

While here, we learned what became of some of our ancestors. We recently learned about a 100 year old former share cropper woman with a second grade education. She is still living and grew up with knowledge of an African language.

Carolinians showcase their West African roots by their warmth and mannerisms. But most importantly, they are part of the African world. There is much to see and learn on this side. I would love to be able to move to Haiti next.

Imagine living history; instead of just reading it. It would be like a living book and each country a chapter. The table of content would read like this:

1. Ghana: study the beginning
2. SC/NC: Africans as slaves, free and citizens
3. Haiti: Need I say more?
4. A Caribbean island where Africans and Native Americans intermarried and developed new group.

And from there, we would return to the Continent, maybe Madagascar to study fauna. I hope my hubby reads this blog. I love you babe!

The more you know

I've recently learned that even a benign tumor  could threaten your life. Because of this it becomes important that you remove or properly treat benign tumors, wherever they are. Do not keep them in your body because they can potentially grow and react in life threatening ways in your body.

Remember we all have a normal level of cancer cells in our bodies. But some benign or good tumors can grow very fast and on organs and bones, preventing them from properly functioning. Another thing is that, even a tiny lump can cause havoc while one the size of a watermelon can be safe. So it's not about the size.

Lastly, while I promote natural path healing, it alone cannot do the job for all cases. Of course neither can Western medicine. What is needed is an integral system balancing the two forms; especially when dealing with tumors. Because tumors can act in ways most researchers haven't seen, it's best not to assume all "tumors" can be treated the same way.

For example, I've learned that some lumps can grow to the size of a cantaloupe and burst open dripping blood.  It can leak for months causing anemia and a wound that needs to be properly cleaned daily with tons of materials to avoid infection.  Many of such tumors can develop on one breast.

In such a case you will need transfusion to battle the anemia. You will need a complex and holistic way to battle such a condition. Drinking organic teas cannot do it alone. And while it could, it would take much longer to do so. Time that your body may not have.

I wish I could live on plants alone. Yes, my ancestors had such knowledge. But we no longer live the same way or in the same world. We don't eat the same food, drink same water, breathe same air nor wear same fabric.

Final word, (different from lastly), it's safer to see a herbalist with an actual office who can examine you. Speaking on phone with someone who is "guessing" your needs based on what you think as wrong is not enough to save your life. While there are risks to all forms of medical treatment, please find ways to decrease the odds.

A child's view

I was discussing life and death with my children. My eldest further explained, "it's like writing a paper. If there's an introduction, there must be a conclusion." And we have all completed our introduction.

She called me

On her death bed
needing to conserve energy, she said
but sounded beautifully strong

We spoke about it
but laughed about it more
we loved each other

What was that love?
so much to ponder
why did she call me?

Who is worthy of such a call?
and what honor, grace, blessings this bestole
it's being crowned by angels

How do we proceed with our new relationship?
how do we communicate?
surely I must not forget

The call told me so
and so much more
she was communicating a greater message

She called me beautiful lady, always
she was so much more
so pure, so real, so positive

And her boys?
I'm more mom than aunty now
have to be there, to be her presence

She called on Ghana's Independence Day
giving me freedom to be more, do more, love more
she liberated me

Did she give her life for mine?
why would she call lowly me?
not worthy

Alice is my angel's name
part of my soul forever
mine

My dearest Alice

When it rains, it pours! My dearest sistar-friend has joined the ancestors. I continue to love her very much and know she is one of my many guardian angels.

I first met this wonderful soul in NYC 18 years ago. We hit it off immediately. She was warm and welcoming with a smile that melted your heart. We eventually both returned to Ghana to live. She was a great aunt to my children. I know I will never forget my beautiful sistar. I know her face is ingrained in my spirit forever. I know she has taught me so much and now her transition has forced me to grow.


1. Pain and suffering should make us better human beings. We shouldn't run from it but embrace the opportunity to grow and learn and become more compassionate.
2. Be kind always. It just never pays not to be.
3. Love and let others feel your love.
4. Be a blessing always.
5. Let your smile be someone's umbrella.
6. Live life like a boss.
7. Let your life be fuel for others to shine.
8. Help! Help! Help!
9. Spread your sunshine.
10. Smile like Alice. A smile that lights her eyes and allows you to feel her spirit.A smile that is pure beauty and comfort.

Alice is such a spirit that her physical departure has only taken our relationship to another level. I look forward to this new stage. I'm very sad and have many questions. But life and death cannot be controlled by me. Instead of living in my grief, I can look forward to developing a relationship with her spirit. I know she has made the spirit world all the more worth joining.

Kwana biyu!

Kwana biyu! This is a Hausa expression loosely translated into "it's been a long time since we've met." Since I'm not much of a blogger I have to muster much energy to chat. Some of my reluctance lately has had to do with my path towards an inner deeper reflection. Instead of clogging my mind with useless thoughts and "other's words," I decided to focus more on connecting with the spiritual.

One of the thoughts that I have been reflecting on lately is on Ghana's health care system. Granted health care in Ghana was never great, but things have been getting worse. Hospitals run out of electricity, drugs, water, doctors, beds and blood. This is why I believe that all foreigners and expatriates who are hospitalized in Ghana should return to their home countries for treatment. This is not because I believe their systems superior, I don't know that. And nor is it because I am anti-foreigner, since as a Haitian, I am one myself.

My reason is simple. If you love Ghana and understand the stress that the country is going through, it is your moral duty to help. Ghana's health resources are very strained. A non-Ghanaian has another health care system to fall back on. The average Ghanaian does not. Thus it becomes a humanitarian issue to free up the limited resources in Ghana for Ghanaians; especially those who have no other option. And by using medical supplies and intelligence in Ghana, they are taking those limited spaces away. Regardless of one's ability to "pay," heath care systems in many such countries should be exclusive for the average person.

Think about patients who need chemo or dialysis. Some are often denied medication because supplies do run out. I'm not saying a life is better than others. But Ghana's health care system has to begin making those choices. And until they do, all those who love Ghana and its wonderful people will find seeking health care elsewhere as their humanitarian duty.

Tati Kymie

Every child deserves a wonderful aunt. An aunt whose love is unconditional, spoils with more love and trains in even more. I am blessed to have more than one such aunt. Ate, Clemene, Odette are some of the world’s greatest aunts and I’m privileged to call them MINE! These are women who would swim high and low for me; people whose love knows no bounds, and never ends. Their shoulders continue to carry me higher and higher.

Aunts are very important in cultures all over the world. They are second mothers. Children who are privileged to have a great one have at least two mothers who fuss over them with love, compassion and tenderness. Such aunts provide special gifts, treats, hugs, kisses and affection reserved only for you. That love cannot be duplicated. It is a special bond that you both share; and will continue to do so forever. Not even death will do you part.

Growing up in Haiti I would spend summer vacations with my aunt Ate and in the same compound lived Clemene and other aunts. I had more than one place to call home. More than one person seeing to my happiness; making sure my wish was met. As a result, I had more than one person creating memories that would guide me forever.

And this is why I am blissfully over the moon that my children have wonderful aunts. Tati Kymie is my children’s aunt. She is the kind of aunt who guides with love; whose rod is a hug and who disciplines without you realizing it as punishment. Tati Kymie is my children’s favorite aunt, of course. Yes, as many of such wonderful aunts, she spoils with the material. She took the children on a shopping spree that will single handedly solve the American economic crisis.

But the material is not even the most lavish of Tati Kymie’s gifts. Her presence reassures that the children are loved unconditionally and they know it! They know this is an aunt who will accept them for who and what they wish to become. They know she sees the stars in their eyes. They know she sees nothing greater than what they can become. There is no greater gift than a child recognizing love in the eyes of aunts. My son described her as a "great force." He senses that spirit of love that binds them. He knows it!

Amazing aunts tend to be outliers, bold, and audacious. They provide the children with gifts that they recognize as pure treasures to be cherished. I cannot begin to describe Kym. Adjectives fail my attempt to pay homage to her. But suffice it to say Kym is one of my favorite people in the universe. She does not judge. She does not jump to conclusion. She is analytical, critical and fair (even when I wish she was more hot headed like me). She walks to the beat of her own drum, which she carved out of the rare tree she planted using tools she designed. And she helps you do the same.

Kym has always been comfortable in her skin and knowing who she was and what she wanted to become; even when society kept telling her otherwise. A person like that knows how to cultivate greatness in others; especially her nieces and nephews. A person like that will be their voice when the world is trying to tear them down. I can prove that children listen to wonderful aunts more than they do their parents. Their voice is a guiding spirit.

What adjective describes someone who stopped their life to help you better live yours? What’s the word for someone whose love never ends and seems new all the time?

Tati Kymie is not the only one. The roster includes Gue and Lin who put their lives on hold to make sure that mine is fine. There are no names for those types of aunts. And Sabrina, Mel, Sa, Pat, Yves, K, and Linda are more aunts whose love and prayers are felt by my children. I make sure they know their names and see their pictures.

The children are not without amazing uncles, either. I have my share of them too. But that is another blog to pay homage to Tonton Koudou, Drapo and Ralph to name a few.

The 37 Military Hospital

Just when I thought all health institutions in Ghana had failed, I stumbled into 37 Military Hospital. A hospital staffed with men and women so dedicated and passionate about their service, that they have made me fall in love with Ghana.

For so long I thought service only existed in the private sector. Private schools and private hospitals, because of the high cost of access, were expected to provide “more and better” service. And even in cases where the service was imaginary, the assumption of private made us think that it was still better than what could be expected from public. But that is pure propaganda. The private sector institutions would like us to believe that they provide the best service, even if that best is mediocre or nonexistent.

I did not realize that health care professionals saw their jobs as service until 37. I’ve studied the social construct of two of Ghana’s top hospitals/clinics. I was under the impression that money got you access to those hospitals, but nothing can buy you the service. This is true for those hospitals. But there is a difference that can be modeled and imitated.

I stumbled into the 37 Military Hospital by accident. I was fortunate to witness service at its best. Although working with limited resources, I witnessed men and women doing their utmost best with what they had for the patients. Wards were clean. Staff were often washing hands or using sanitizer. Hallways were clean and custodians were always cleaning something.

The surgery room looked state of the art. The most important aspect of this hospital is that it’s home to many professionals. And during a surgery, you are in the hands of more than one doctor. There are at least 5 professionals in the room making sure your surgery is successful. And that will make any patient feel more comfortable.

One of the older patients, who had her stomach removed, recounted how comfortable she was. The doctors were reassuring. And because of their faith, she knew she her surgery would be a success.

The 37 establishment is huge. I did not get to visit all wards, but I did spend a week studying the Emergency Room, the Tamakloe Ward and the Dressing Area. And here is what I witnessed. From the custodian, Mr. Mensah, to the nurse volunteers, to the nurses, and up to the doctors, Dr. Yeboah and Dr. Asumanu, everyone understood their mission to serve and did so with compassion and passion.

These men and women are some of the most underappreciated human beings in Ghana, if not in the world. Some haven’t been paid for months. The custodians have to search for water as opposed to having it at their disposal. I saw doctors in the Emergency Room work for a straight 36 hours, nonstop; no complaints, adrenalin must have been too high. I saw doctors welcome in patients with the most gruesome cases with smiles and showing hope. I saw doctors and nurses become family and friends to patients. Relationships were established with each patient, as though they had known each other for years as opposed to hours.

And because of this, patients established lasting relationships with each other. People shared food, medical supplies and water. Visiting families bought food and supplies not just for their members, but for others in the ward. Patients cried at the passing of another patient. A bond was created that strangers now became family members. I saw patients cheer and clap as another returned from surgery. Older patients became aunty, mom and grandma. They counseled that the young ones should eat their food, keep mobile and be of good faith. And what would normally be annoying, such as random people coming in to pray, was enduring. Even if they were not listening, the fact that some random stranger took time to come and pray and break the monotony, was welcoming. These “prayers” would often cheer and do special prayers over news of discharge and other medical victories.

I was particularly stunned by how many Ghanaians are hospitalized due to BP and Diabetes. If what I witnessed in Tamakloe Ward is a norm, then the numbers are alarming. These are both conditions that can be controlled by diet and yet I saw patients in their 40s with leg injuries due to Diabetes. The other major “condition” was due to road accidents; another alarming problem is the state of our roads.

My biggest problem with 37, as with other hospitals, is food. Diabetic patients were given rice for lunch, even though the nurses and nutritionists said otherwise. But rice is on the menu twice a day. It was clear that the caterers, nurses and nutritionists did not work together to create the menu. I know they cannot cater to each individual patient’s needs, which is why families supplemented, but as a health institution, I was expecting better quality food such as vegetables and fruits.

Furthermore, some of the patients take “strong” meds that has to be taken with “heavy” food or at least something nutritious. And yet, breakfast at 37 can include “Lipton tea” with three pieces of bread. The Lipton Tea is not nutritious nor is it strong enough to take meds. It tastes like hot water sprinkled with milk and soaked in sugar. To be fair, the caterer does ask if patients want sugar or not, but no one asks about rice, because that is always on the menu. To top it all off, the light soup is so light; you can see yourself through it. But this is a problem hospitals all over the world face; how to provide nutritious food to the patients. It’s ironic that food would be a problem for health establishments, but that is another blog.

Besides food, the social space constructed by the men and women of the 37 Military Hospital is something that has to be modeled and copied by others in Ghana and around the world. And no, I do not believe it’s because the military is “different.” I know military in other countries, but what I witnessed in Ghana was different. The difference was Ghanaians dedicated to service.   

Showing compassion and understanding to our children

Many public schools continue to cane children in Africa. This mirrors what is taken place in our homes.

One of the things I know for sure is that spanking children as punishment is not just and not the ideal form of discipline.

When I think about why my mother would occasionally spank us, I realized 2 things. The first is that throwing her hand or finally asking for a belt exemplified her exasperation with the problem at hand. Her frustration level had risen so high that words had failed common sense. In addition, there was either not enough time or patience to correct the issue.

In one occasion I remember my mother throwing her hand because I had failed to not clean a dish well. But to my defense I was never taught how to wash dishes. I was just basically told that a child my age should just know how. There were no tutorials. Or I remember the many times I was chastised for not brushing my teeth well. But no one ever taught how to properly brush your teeth. And ironing, you guessed it, no lessons.

Children need our patience; we do not come with manuals. We were all children. Treat children the same way you wished adults treated you as a child. We must understand children learn what we teach them. Yes some children are more stubborn than others but that just means we have to be more creative and patient in teaching them.

I know there are times that you can teach a child ten times not to slam the door, but like my children they continue to slam it as they forget what you said minutes ago.  But the good news is the children’s forgetfulness and irritation in your eyes, mirrors how God sees us for the many different petty things we do. For as you see your children; God sees you.

Instead of finding ways to knock that child down, ask yourself would I want God react to me with similar fury? Would I want my mistakes to be seen through love and kindness? When you stop and ask those questions a smile will come to your face as you continue to remind your children to treat the door with more patience. I know I do because God’s mercy has allowed me to show mercy to all even small children slamming doors in our rented home. 

Haitian Kanaval

Great music in Haiti is political. Few successful musicians make music for the sake of music. They are bound to produce something meaningful to the society, seeking its upliftment through their beats and words. The best musicians do this with style and flare. The worst ones mimic what they think is expected of them.

Kanaval is that time of year when invited musicians take to Chan Mars (the streets) to display their talents. The crowd gathers to hear which band said what, how, when and with which instruments. We want to hear the different accents, new vocabulary and the ways politicians and their exploits are exposed. Watching the news can be boring, but listening to Kanaval songs will make you sit up and listen.

Because music is political in Haiti, not all bands are invited to participate in Kanaval. The ban alone leads to some of the best songs ever written on exclusion, freedom of speech, abuse of power and fear of musicians.

But I do believe some bands should not be allowed to participate in Kanaval. As I mentioned, Kanaval is time for the voiceless to hear their aspirations, ideas, dreams for a better Haiti articulated through song and dance. Kanaval is that time when the koudjay (not the band, but the verb) of the “ti neg” is celebrated. And when the people, and the musicians that represent them, fuse on the streets.

But not all musicians can pull this off. Not all musicians can speak for the people. Some songs celebrate the band’s ego and criticize their competitors and warn them that “nou la, nap toujou la,” and that is great on its own. Some musicians however, knowing that they must go beyond stroking their egos, sing the “good” words because they know what is expected, but not because they believe in the messages. I cannot believe that some mulatto bands (they know who they are) want an end to the violence in Haiti. The mixed race and small white and Lebanese elite operate on a “Ayiti kraze” and their class/race in Haiti are only possible if the violence, which they support/protect, continues and thrives. I cannot believe that those musicians are anti politicians exploiting the nation and its people, unless those politicians are anti their class/race. I don’t believe they are tired of the violence; but they know we are.

I don’t know any of those bands personally, but I know the class/race they represent. They have not been silent on their position either; hence why so many Haitians have a love/hate relationship with one particular band. I think some of their regular Konpa songs are good, but when I think of what they represent in Haiti and how their group will only thrive at the benefit of “pitite Soyet” I cannot but think of their Kanaval songs as mocking the Haitian people.

But there is a lesson to be learned in their Kanaval songs and some of the music was good, (instruments, mixing different genres of Haitian music, tempo, etc) especially in 2006. But I think Kanaval should remain sacred and some bands should not be allowed to make a mockery of our hopes, aspirations, and dreams for a better Haiti; especially when they know that Haiti cannot exist if they persist. 

Return our girls!

The news of kidnappings brings me back to analyzing the Atlantic Slave Trade. No matter where or when, my mind races back to the 17^th century and I immediately sympathize with the modern family but their story also permits me better understanding of that evil part of history. I feel there is a message in modern capture that can better help us understand the past.

The news of kidnappings strikes a particular fear inside me. The thought of it conjures up panic visible in the quote, “they seemed to be staring at darkness, but their eyes were watching God.” I think of the victims; their thoughts, their psychology, their actions and how fear tries to recreate new human beings out of them. I think of the babies, children, men, and women. I think of their families; lactating moms, dads, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I think of their pain. I also think of them as members of their larger communities; as doctors, artists, jewelry makers, historians, teachers, bankers, writers and performers. Those people whose absence would make it harder for the community to continue. What could possibly be going through the minds? When do their nightmares end? Their horror could only be imagined in empathetic words.

I think the horror goes back to my cellular memory of being a person whose ancestors were victimized by the Atlantic Slave Trade. How can that crime be visualized, understood, or expressed? And in this story the lessons continue to unfold, even centuries later. It just cannot be forgotten.

And as I “hear” of the hundreds of Nigerian girls kidnapped from school, I postulate on similar situations that caused millions, centuries ago, to lose their ties, families, bonds, names, languages and cultures. What were the circumstances of their capture? What stories did the perpetrators create to better construct the slave? Will these girls be told that their families did not want them? That they were “sold”? Or that they are doing God’s Will by being subservient to more superior men, religion, class or color? Would the capturer write a book where boarding schools are reconstructed as spaces for rejected children? Will the idea of school and learning be re-imagined as inferior to better create these girls into something new?

When do their families move on? When do they forget? When do they stop telling the story? When do they stop singing and praying for their children to return? When do they begin to imagine these girls living better lives? When do the victors’ historians begin to rewrite what we know? And when do we allow the wrong and strong to have the last word?

These families will never forget. The same way families in the 16^th, 17^th, and 18^th centuries did not forget. The pain was engraved in their cellular. The evidence is everywhere. The horror is tattooed in faces and the physical spaces as evidence of the crime and of the tears shed. Who can ever forget? Lack of songs and stories are evidence of terror too agonizing to relieve. And in that silence, faces, names, and memories continue to shout of this evil past. Ancestors continue to call back their children. That lactating mother whose baby was snatched from her bosoms continues to call her ancestors back. I hear the shouts. They do not end. They are reborn in early deaths, diseases, illnesses and psychological problems. They are growing. It just does not end. 

Being on Purpose

Thanks to the wonderful Kala Mujibha, our community center was able to host another workshop on healthy living and having a purposeful lifestyle. We were honored to have Dr. Nana Kwaku Opare as the leading speaker. He is a foremost figure in the community of healthy living experts and those wanting to live outside of the Allopathic or western medicinal systems.

Speaking from his book, The Rule Book and User guide to Healthy Living, (which can be purchased from www.opare.net), Dr. Opare states that you cannot be healthy if you are not on purpose. If your “being” is lost or if you are not “being on purpose” about your life, you cannot maintain a healthy body.

He defines dis-ease as messages from the Divine. Signs, signals or gifts even, to help us get back on track. These signals are to help us change our state of mind, our feelings, and behaviors and to help us reconnect to the Divine/our ancestors/purpose. He continued that the only purpose of health is to for us to fulfill our purpose in life. We are thus healthy if we are on purpose or on track.

Dr. Opare was also emphatic in the belief that our bodies have everything it needs to heal itself. He states that our bodies are self correcting. Many western trained doctors have been quoted stating similar observations.

He elaborates on key steps that one must take to maintain health by being on purpose. The key most important one is finding out your purpose in life. Are you doing what you love? Are you doing what you are put on this Earth to do at this time? And how do you know?

To find out he proposes that we seek a diviner, a lwa, an Oshun or someone whose job it is to help us find our purpose. No lwa near you? You can also find your purpose by listening to your intuition…that little voice that speaks to you from the realm of the ancestors. It is them guiding and aiding you in finding your purpose. Some of us listen while others continue to bathe in the sea of dis-ease.

Another key step to healthy living, which makes his work stand apart from others, is the focus on community building. You must be part of building a community, taking care of your family, and connected to others. Most studies confirm that people who live longer have communities that they are engaged in building.  He also mentions that we must have loving kindness, not just for our families but for humanity and all living things.

I would add that you must engage in giving life. This is not about reproduction, but production. Planting trees, a garden or a farm are just some examples. You must be engaged in food production or taking care of plant life, the source of your diet to healthy living and being on purpose.

Go ahead. Be on purpose.

Asante Kingdom to Empire

Enjoy my first unit study on Asante history. More to come.

Unit Study: Asante Kingdom to Empire

My book: 30 Steps to Homeschooling Successfully in Africa

30 Steps to Homeschooling Successfully in Africa

State of the Nation 2014

I’ve been silent. I know. I was getting my health back in check as I came down with another bout of Typhoid. This time it was from cauliflower…that I cooked myself. Cauliflower has to be cooked for more than 5 minutes and that heat resistant bacteria lives within the cresses. Needless to say, I won’t be touching cauliflower for a very long time. I also had anemia which was making me very tired and drowsy. And thanks to the wonderful support of herbalist Dr. Asare of PAMA health, yours truly is back better than before. I say better than before because being sick makes you more compassionate. At least, I became more compassionate during that period. I realized that I had to look at the world and individuals through a compassionate lens and not be as critical at people’s mediocre attempts.

My compassion leads me to the topic of today’s blog. I watched the State of the Nation address by President John Mahama on Tuesday, February 25, 2014. I watched it alone; not with hubby, the diehard patriot, but by myself. And I saw Mahama in a new light. Not that new; I always liked him. He laughs like my father. I like his father vibe..but I digress.

Mahama started the address with a bang…deciding to focus not on what Ghana has but who Ghanaians are as a people. I thought that was a great way to go. Ghana’s wealth is its human resource and if threatened, Ghana has nothing left. I like that. The speech was thorough, touching base on all aspects of Ghanaian society that needed a touch up, but Mahama failed to mention the FAMILY. The building block of all societies and the foundation for all countries. How could he fail to analyze and shine light on what has been happening to the state of family in Ghana? That parents are too busy to parent. That children do not see their parents until the weekends. That the cases of child molestation is on the rise? That the everyone is amazed at what children “pick up” from school because parents are not doing their jobs? That most parents do not know if their children ate or passed a bowel movement the entire week? That nannies, house boys/girls and drivers have been given the job as guardian while parents work. How is that not an important aspect of what is wrong in Ghana? How can children learn entrepreneurial skills if they spent their days watching television with nanny dearest? Who is there to guide their passions? Not the schools, as he mentioned, we need more qualified parents, passionate about their jobs and willing to show up for their children as often as they show up for work.  Honestly, I feel we need to stop blaming teachers for the state of our children. When did blaming others for not doing your job become acceptable? Parents and teachers are in a partnership. Teachers can only teach children who have received the foundation of love and support for the teacher to build upon. They cannot manage children who are acting out for the sole attention of mommy and daddy; no amount of money can solve that problem.

I felt Mahama confused physical buildings as schools. President Mahama stated the solution to rectifying the education problem was to build more schools. Seriously? There are no teachers! Does it matter if they are under a tree or in a building if no one is there to teach? Is a school in a building more worthy without a teacher than one under a tree with a teacher? Again, the priorities are lopsided.

The same goes for his presentation on hospitals. Buildings do not make hospitals. Trained health care professionals outfitted with equipment to save lives does. And right now, Ghana is lacking both.

I felt the conclusion of the speech “made mention” of me in a way. He stated that Ghana belongs to the many men and women who wake up every day to make sure their children get quality education and put food on the table. The men and women who are making this country go around; not by sitting back and complaining, but by being part of the solution. How did he know? Good news does fly. I felt he acknowledged all home scholers in that line.

Apart from the discrepancies mentioned, I loved the speech. I’m not saying he said anything new. He acknowledged the depreciating GHC; so did we. He “mentioned” everything we expected of him. I like that he mentioned ordinary citizens doing their part for the nation. He was jovial throughout, making jokes and cracking up everyone who understood him. Even with jeers and boos, he maintained a good disposition and demeanor. Go Ghana! Go GHC!

From Chiemeka to Grandma

She died on my birthday
I have a great song to say
You were older than 60 when I turned 8
I will say that was great
Spirits don't die
They just fly in the sky
Looking at you behave
They look everyday
My mom really misses her
She died on December 1st
When she held me she gave me smile
And when I see that, I smile
She loved me
I loved her
We were sometimes together
She loved my father
She loved my mother

How Maroons must have felt

My aunt passed away on Dec. 1. I did not sleep a wink that night. Although I did not know it, my spirit was restless. That's how connected we were. She was the greatest aunt in the entire world. There's a saying that as adults, we won't remember what was said to us as children but we will remember how particular adults made us feel. I remember how my aunt made me feel. She made me feel great; like I was a superstar. She loved me and I knew it. She loved all of us. She was just that kind of spirit. I take solace in the fact that she died on my son's birthday and will become his guardian angel.

I am peeved at myself for not being there while she was alive. We moved to Ghana in 2005 and since then, we've only visited family once. Not that we didn't want to, but the opportunities don't always present themselves. I'm also disappointed that I did not have the financial freedom to permit me travel as many times as needed to keep that bond alive. Or the financial freedom to be of assistance to her while alive. I would have wanted to provide her a private nurse and have my children at her feet. I couldn't do that. I should have done that. I would have loved to do that.

Here lays the conundrum of being a returnee or living so far away from family members that you love. While others will take our move to Ghana as heroic and groundbreaking, it comes with its baggages, such as not being with family that you love when you want and when they need you.

I'm thinking of the average Maroon, making that decision to leave her evil conditions for something better, but that something better cannot be that great without her family members. We imagine the Maroons communities as revolutionary and inspiring but we don't remember the average Maroon and what that decision mean psychologically and socially. It's not a simple live free or live as slave? For many it was live without the one I love is not living at all. It meant leaving the little family bonds that they had. They had to hear news of loved ones through the grapevine. They couldn't as easily see the ones left behind, even for a short time. That break in the community, albeit imaginary, is the essence of humanity. And why family is so important to Africans, despite what the Maafa intended.

As Returnees, we will have to deal with such heartbreak. While the move in itself is what our ancestors wanted, we will create a break with some of the most wonderful family members we ever had. It takes courage to make such a move knowing this sad fact. Maybe the Africans who did not run away to join the Maroons had similar paradoxes. It's not easy being away from those we love, even if the conditions are horrific and evil. I swore that I wouldn't raise my children in the US, but I would now if I could have my aunt back. I would want them to feel how she made me feel on a daily basis. I would want them to hear her voice and always remember her with happiness and joy. I would want them to taste her cooking and hear her call their names.

How many more family members will I deprive them of knowing? How many more will become ancestors before they had a chance to physically bond and feel that same deep love that I feel for my aunt? Is returning to the Motherland or moving away from the pariah worth it if some of the greats are left behind?

From Mulattoes to Materials

In honor of Maurice Sixto, whose social comedic analysis and skits have taught me to pay attention to how the world unfolds.
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I people watch. I observe, analyze, critique and survey who does what, why, when and where. I notice how age, gender, geographical location and the notion of class influence how we do things. Dialogue and discourse was encouraged in Haiti, more so than other countries.
In Haiti, I observed how parents of Mulattoes (children of mixed race), construct and redefine how they raise their children. I noticed this group was distinct in its attempts to be perceived different and socially mobile and better-off. Their children were afforded the best that the society provided; and society applauded their attempts. But not all Mulattoes were/are equal. Respect is given to those perceived as descent and respectful. Children of an old white man and a young girl who used to be his maid are not given the same privilege of respect as those of children whose parents were social equals. So the effort Mulattoes put on providing top education for their children was in attempt to gain social respect and acceptance.

And while there was an emphasis on providing children quality education or the best that money can buy, I am surprised to find something else amongst mulattoes in Ghana. Instead of an emphasis on education, abstract knowledge, philosophy and art, I find emphasis on gathering and securing material things. I name this group in Ghana, Materials.

From Mulattoes in Haiti to Materials in Ghana, the big difference rests on respect and decency. Many of the Materials are children to parents who are gravely social unequals. The fathers tend to be much older, more educated and with the financial backing to permit him attract a much younger, less educated and unemployed girl. In fact, many of the men suffer from some form of psychological problems as they are in need of showcasing their lost of power (youth, status, white wife) over some of Ghana's most under privileged population.

Because the Material mom is often less educated than the new social circle her relationship with the old man has briskly provided her, she is often found shadowing a white woman and her children. From house help to madam, she is the new friend to the white women, whom she would have most likely be working for if it were not for this brief fling with the white man. So what she feeds her children; the Material mom follows. Their extra curricular activities become the Material moms' only because the term was unknown to them until quite recently. As the partly social misfit, they follow while trying not to be noticed as peculiar and disturbing.

You can tell a Ghanaian woman raising a Material child by how much emphasis she puts on money. She drops numbers as efficiently as a 4 year old. Twenty thousand hundred for this, five hundred billion trillion for that. And where are these fake monies allocated? To shoes, pizza, Ipads and toys. Any books? Not if you don't want to be perceived as poor. Women raising Materials do not buy books. They buy things that people can easily agree are expensive.

And education? They believe the child's skin color will open doors. The same way the old white men's skin color worked for him.

Are all Materials children of mixed race? No. Materials are a culture that others can buy into, just like being western. If the emphasis is providing your children parties that cost more than salaries that Members of Parliament filter out of the economy, and you live to brag about it, then you are raising a Material. If your child has an Ipad but is below reading level, or you don't know which reading level s/he should be on, then be proud to classify yourself as part of this group. I say group because they are not really a class, since their economic standing is inconsistent and not dependent on real money but the idea of money in relation to what they envisioned, (not too long ago), that $100 could solve all their problems.

Because the Materials mom is often less educated than the new social circle her relationship with the old man has briskly provided her, she is often found shadowing a white woman and her children. From house help to madam, she is the new friend to the woman, who she would have most likely be working for if it were not for this brief fling with the white man. So what she feeds her children; the Material mom follows. Their extra curricular activities become the Material mom's only because the term was unknown to them until quite recently. As the partly social misfit, they follow while trying not to be noticed as peculiar and disturbing.

Why do the Material moms, yes, only moms because the fathers are really not in the picture, stress getting things and buying more things for their children? Because as new salaries (not money really), they only know what they can get with money. What they can, not what can be learned or gained from money. They, like many of us, are trying to provide for their children what they were denied as children. And most of these women remember not getting beautiful dresses, nice shoes, coca cola and other foods that the real elite shun.

 And what about the men?They don't tend to have relationships with their children, which many did not want to have in the first place. They realized their age and having younger children further emphasized their mortality. Many will not live to see their children, whom they did not want in the first place, graduate from junior high school. One woman in such a situation confided that the man did not want children, because his grandchildren are older than the child would be. It was only after she swore that he would have no further obligation to the child that he stopped demanding an abort or an end to the relationship. These men know how indispensable such women/older girls are. Other women confided that having children raised their social status in the eyes of the community. Not having children would meant they not worthy of respect and engaged in indecent behavior with the old white men.

What about white women married to African men? They are a different story. They are trying to raise a difference race; but not African/Black. They epitomize how racism works; silent, blatantly unnoticed, and schematic. How can you tell the two groups apart? Materials are raising children they wish you would accept as white. Their names tend to be, "Harry, Victoria, Elizabeth," echoing a time when the British had an Empire and people cared about your relationship within it. White women married to African men are raising children they wish you would accept as white Africans. They choose the local names for that specific reason...to be asked over and over again where that name came from and how the child relates to that culture.

What do the Material moms gain from such relationships? Only what their bags can carry. Stay tuned for more.

Dirty Hands

I've been silent. Why? My son fell terribly ill due to dirty hands. At our last visit to Ghana's premier laboratory, with state of the art technology, there was no water for hand washing. As the children walked around picking up bird feathers and padding the animals, they had their snacks accompanied by the various bacteria which made their way onto their fingers. I need not cry any more on my frustrations over lack of water and toilet facilities in Ghana. I now walk around with extra water for hand washing, because sanitizers are not as efficient as we would like to believe.

Apart from that, I've been reading...on the subject of the various dirty habits that keep our communities from developing. One such community is the African American one in the US. In Sheik Charles Brown-El's Accept your Own and Be Free from Mental Slavery, he analyzes some of those problems in detail. In similar fashion to the early Garvey writing years, Brown-El lays out some key habits that plague African American society (argument could be made for a global trend), in an easy to read-reach-the-masses fashion. The book is not bogged down in discursive distractions nor in linguistic battles. It is clear, concise and relevant.
This book reminds me of Garvey's writings because of its emphasis on community. Brown-El 's book is general analysis of Black community. His analysis is asking for a new community; one that is healthy, conscious and purposeful.
Remember the feeling of being connected to a wider community that Garvey's books would inspire? Brown-El's book does the same. By bringing us back to the basics of family, community and nation; the feeling of connectedness is the first real triumph of this book.

While Accept your Own is free from discursive jargon, Brown-El does drop one major one on us without further analysis or explanation. The historians amongst us know that the power of labeling and naming has been, for the most part, relegated to the victors. In this case, Europeans have had the power to name and label what most of us take for granted. The Continent that we call home was named Africa by the Greeks; not the people who populated that Continent. So "Africans" are a people, continent and idea constructed by Europeans. Brown-El, justifiably, rejects that label and prefers to refer to "our" people as Asiatics. The discourse on labeling and naming is very important, particularly in our situation, that I believed it deserved to be analyzed further. Where did that term come from? Who labeled it? How do we fit in within that puzzle?
Is Africa a term rejected because of its association to slavery and abuse? Europeans have had a much longer relationship with Africa, predating slavery, with "Africans" on top.

Brown-El also focuses on building the Asiatic nation within the US. His vision is not global or Continental. As a visionary of his people, Brown-El could be focusing on the group that he knows best. The group that he can easily help rebuild and develop. But our problems are so much bigger than the US geographic space. It's a global issue. What those in the US experience is an indicator of something greater taking place on a global level. We are all managed and victimized by the same media.

The most important part of this blue print is its emphasis on the family. The collapse of our families cannot be glossed over any further. Although Accept your Own and Be Free from Mental Slavery is specific to our people in the US shores, families are also breaking down on the Continent. There are more divorces and more children growing up not knowing their extended families or speaking their languages. Fathers are not as relevant as they used to be. They are not as active in the lives of their children or working towards maintaining the parental relationship. King Ayisoba's "I want to see you my father" is the antithesis of Tupac's "Dear Mother." Tupac's mother, and most of our mothers, are what King Ayisoba's father, and most of our fathers aren't. They are not supportive. They are not present. And the children are taking notice. More Ghanaian fathers in their old age, will go uncared for by the same children they ignored growing up. Our elderly are not being taken cared of. There are fewer people home to take care of them and because there is less obligation. The societal implications for this cannot be discussed in this blog.

Accept your Own and Be Free from Mental Slavery opens up a much needed discussion on the state of our families, communities and nations. To further ignore this debate spells doom for our people on a global level. Read your copy to find out what you can do to stop it.

Visiting Public and Private Spaces in Ghana

Our homeschool group was fortunate to visit the “laboratory” of Ghana’s premier engineer, scientist and inventor in the Central Region. Asafo Kwadwo Safo is famous for his ingenious creations. Suffice it to say that it was one of the greatest places to visit in Ghana. The children had a chance to witness excellence at work and personified. They found minds at work on different ways to make our world safer and better. It was one great example of how passion meets science meets creativity.

This laboratory was 125 acres. It included an animal and plant research center and a slew of different animals on the compound. The children saw zebras, ostriches, camels, porcupines, huge pigeons, horses, geese, ducks, lambs, tortoises and so much more. They had greater variety in their collection than Accra Zoo.

And while the place gets visitors on a regular basis, no provision was made for a clean and comfortable toilet. We had to squat inside a wooden fixture. No water. No toilet paper, just a tiled floor used for urination only. Why is that?

It is because not much attention is paid to the customer in Ghana. This notion that customers don’t matter is a national problem. It affects the way information is presented and liaisons are formed between the communities and the private space. The theme that “they will come if they need to” dominate the mindset, from business class to entrepreneurs. No one seems to break free of this hold.

Asafo Safo’s laboratory is not alone. The day after, we attended the Cocoa Festival. This was held at the State House in Osu, where Parliament meets. And yet, we couldn’t find a toilet to save my potty trainer from wetting herself. We finally had to squat, near a 4x4 in the parking lot. We were finally told where to find a toilet, too bad it was too far away for any toddler to actually make it without soiling him/herself.

It’s not a surprise that few people attend such festivals or visit private/public spaces in Ghana. Toilet is always a problem. Ghana Education’s latest research states that girls’ absenteeism highest because of lack of toilets, especially during times of menstruation. Children have to use the bush and girls stand being raped while doing so. To top this all off, there are no hand washing facilities to promote good self care. Most houses in Accra, built in the 1980s, do not have toilets. Tenants have to create “buckets” which are taken out at night by latrine carriers.

I wish those in the media would discuss such matters. Not sure what drives this media…oh yes, I know. Do you?