This was a very trying week, principally because of all the nonsense that goes on in an organization that's "spirally" managed. That is, top-level decision-makers go 'round and 'round, moving as far away from making a (lasting, impactful, forward-moving) decision as possible.
A friend of mine insists she's becoming "dumber". I insist no, she's just becoming more discerning -- learning how to separate the wheat from the chaff, how to recognize and reject b.s. I wish I could say it's a product of age, but alas, it isn't. It's more a product of perspective.
For example, this week --
1) Home office in Bethesda, MD accidentally knocked down our website (that they manage) and lost all our data. Somebody has to pay for all the work that will go into reconstructing it, even though the projects will only last another year and a half. USAID maintains that even though it approved our project having its own logo, that's actually a no-no (as it was 3 years ago when I was in Rwanda, but go figure) so all our business cards and signage (in 3 countries) have to be re-done. That's a lot of staff time and financial resources on re-dos, and someone has to pay. That someone would be...well, you.
2) Our USAID contract refers to us as a "partner", though the common usage is that we're a "project". I was asked to issue a directive on what word we should use and when. I did. I was told, no, our chief USAID liaison told us something different. I changed the directive to what I was told he said. I was told I was wrong. Similar on the business cards -- and I won't even go into all the details of that two-month-long redo. No logo. Okay, I scrapped the artist's designs and worked on one just using typeface and colors. Chief USAID liaison (whose title is actually an acronym of something so silly it doesn't bear repeating here) said no colors, too much like a logo -- better stick with black and white. I re-did it. Was told it was "unappealing" and I should use colors. I forwarded the e-mail in which the USAID guy said "use black and white" and was told...no, in a separate conversation, to which I was not privy, he said colors were okay.
3) I write a lot of stories and edit my staff's stories. Then it goes to my boss who distributes it to two other members of senior management who return it to him who returns it to me. So obviously, when it comes back it's full of track changes and "comments" and barely resembles what we started with (and researched and wrote and had vetted by the "technical:" staff). Now, in a spiral management setting, "comments" are more opportunities to expound, than to correct or even clarify. They're things like "I wonder if we should say this..."; "Are we really doing this...?" and "What if someone thinks...." Sorry, I can't know how to answer those questions. Process aborted.
4) I need to know the exact dates, times and locations of two workshops being held in Kumasi, Ghana, the same week in January, as I plan to go there to provide communications staff support. I ask the technical staff members responsible for those activities for that information, and for the Scope of Work they've prepared that explains what they plan to do, and what they hope to accomplish by doing it. But instead of just TELLING me where/when their workshops are being held, and sending me the SOW, one ignores my two requests and the other tells me "Venancious knows". Venancious reports to me; he sits at a desk across from me. If he HAD the information he would have told me in the first place. Is this cultural? I ask him and our other staffer, Felix. No, they assure me, it's just ridiculous. We start to laugh, and then we roar, imagining me starting at the airport in Kumasi, going around town asking, "Do you know of a poultry workshop here?" Who IS that crazy white woman??
5) A round-and-around meeting on how to proceed on a particular communications proposal ended up exactly where I'd suggested it should go, but of course we had to go through:
- Give us your opinion.
- I just did.
- Wait, let me give you the background.
- Okay. (Background/history/rationale provided)
- What do you think?
- The same thing I said earlier.
- Well, what about doing it this way...?
- Why? What does that accomplish?
- Well, if you don't agree, just say so.
- I just did.
- So what do you think?
- I just told you.
And then there was:
- Do you have this information on your copy of the document?
- I don't know, let me see it and compare.
- (Third person) No, don't use that (pulls it aside). It's not the version we're going to use.
- How can I answer (2nd person's) question if I don't look at it?
- (Second person) I'm just asking if this item is on your version?
- I don't know. (Third person) told me not to look at it.
- (Second person) I just want to be sure they're the same...
- GIVE ME THAT PAPER!
And the clincher...
- This proposal is a strategy and the strategy is the deliverable. So you don't really have to worry about the implementation.
- Huh?
xooxox Love, Grammy
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
A Ghanaian weekend
Weekends in Ghana are of course for family and visiting friends and shopping and church and going out. They're NOT typically for cleaning and laundry at my economic level because most have maids or houseboys who do that work during the week. I can afford it, but choose not to have help so on my weekends, I do some cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping. This weekend, though, I did two other popular actvities: get out of town to the coast and go to a funeral in "the village".
On Friday, the national Farmers Day holiday, I filled the car tank (close to $50), grabbed my trusty Bradt guide and headed west as far as the fishing town of Winneba, wanting to see some Bradt-recommended sights along the way. Theoretically you can go as far west along the coast to Cape Coast and Elmina, however given the time it takes to get out of traffic-ensnarled Accra (plus I keep getting lost), and then the hellish traffic going through towns enroute, it wasn't a particular pleasant experience. Every little town has vendors in the street -- all selling the same foodstuffs and junk. Hard to figure out what the point is, as no one can be earning very much money.
I couldn't find some of the sights listed in the guide, there were some unpaved roads that I was not going to try to navigate without a 4x4, and it takes quite a while to get from the main road south along the feeder roads to the beach. I also got lost coming back into town and kept telling myself, "This is an adventure, this is fun, this is new, this is -- well, actually, it was just slightly less annoying than working for sheep.
Yesterday, though, was pretty amazing, because weekends in Ghana are also for funerals. A whole lot of people come from villages in regions throughout country -- where the languages and customs are all different -- and they go home to their village when there's a family funeral. The funeral can can take four or five days with all the arrangements, religious and traditional ceremonies and family gatherings. My impressions and very superficial knowledge are that going home to your village is mostly about comfort. It's about speaking your traditional language, being with family, seeing childhood friends, participating in traditions. Life is simple, easy, slow, predictable and cherished. You are someone because you're from somewhere -- where you're known and accepted.
Funerals in Ghana are ritualized celebrations, and when they say "celebration of life", they're not just paying lip service tribute...they're really celebrating. Black and white are the traditional mourning colors (though red is also worn, though I'm not clear why). The older the person who died, the more white is prevalent, the sentiment being that a person over 70 is dying naturally and at an appropriate age and has lived a long time so his/her life should be celebrated. After the church service, a band leads the coffin and on-foot processional to the cemetery for burial, after which the "mourners" (or rather, celebrants) are invited to the home of the deceased's family for a joyous celebration.
Felix is one of the two Communications specialists I supervise. His mother died a couple of months ago, but her funeral wasn't until yesterday because it takes quite a while to save and gather the funds necessary for all the funereal actitivities. In fact, it's customary for friends and colleagues to help defray expenses with a monetary gift, which is what both Venancious (the other specialist) and I did, as well as the project office as a whole. Three colleagues and I, plus one of our drivers, traveled 4-1/2 hours each way to attend the funeral in theVolta region village of Kadjebi, just on the western side of the mountains that form Ghana's eastern border with Togo.
It's a four and a half hour trip, and was very interesting for the first three hours. Then it got long. But during the first part of the trip there was lively conversation -- mostly about the political situation in Cote d'Ivoire, Ghana's neighbor to the west, where a disputed presidential election is a precursor to anything from violence in the streets to all-out civil war, sure to send Ivoriens fleeing next door to Ghana. Second favorite topic is soccer, with the World Cup having just been awarded to Russia and Qatar in --what? 2018 and 2022?!
We stopped in a small village for what might be considered "brunch" at home, because no one had had breakfast, given that we'd left Accra so early. This stop was at a "chop bar" -- someone's very modest shack where "local food" is served. As far as I can figure out, Ghanaians typically eat three meals a day, all of which are basically the same: a starch (maize, cassava, yam or rice -- or combination) that they eat with their hands, scooping up the "sauce" that's poured on it. The sauces have meat, fish, chicken or vegetables and they're very spicy. There's also a "soup", but I can't tell the difference from it and a "sauce". Actually, there are other local dishes, such as delicious grilled fish and potatoes, and grilled or fried chicen with "jollo" (spicy) or fried rice.
I try to be a good sport about new foods, but I'll never be a special guest on those Food Channel TV shows where the host (e.g., Anthony Bourdain?) is eating something very weird. So, at this chop enroute to the funeral, I just couldn't do it. The lady grabbed the cassava (or yam?) ball, slapped it into a bowl, and poured over it a sauce that had parts of an animal I do not want to eat, and that literally turned my stomach. I made some excuse and rushed out onto the street where I bought some bananas and "chips" (fried bread and groundnuts --peanuts) and then came back to play with the woman's five, six? grandchildren, all of whom clearly thought I was the most exciting thing to hit their village.
Then there's the issue of the bathroom when you go out of the city. There's no way to get around the fact that this can be quite a challenge, especially for a woman. As fussy as I am about my food, I'm probably fussier about my toilet. I'd much rather go behind a bush or rock than in some of the places I've been, but it's best to wear a skirt to do that. I was wearing pants (white, with a black top) and en route had to pee. One of my colleagues had a family member who lived nearby, and offered their outdoor facility. I was looking for/dreading the hole in the ground (a cement-lined "latrine" is considered a more developed concept), but turns out they had a cement-floored shower/pee room. Ah, the things you learn as a traveler...
By the time we arrived in Kadjebi, about 11:30 a.m., the church service had ended, so I have no idea what happened -- and wouldn't have understood it, anyway. I was much more fascinated by the music and dancing at the reception in the courtyard of Felix's village home -- and the fashion show. Even though not everyone wore black/white/red, many did -- custom-made dresses and shirts exqisitely tailored and literally cut from the same black-and-white patterned cloth. Felix's family chose to have all family members wear the same cloth (the black diamond-pattern seen in the photos), but everyone had a different style -- even the men and children. And the music and traditional dancing! Wonderful! I did some dancing, much to the delight of the local women. I did not, however, eat much of the meal so kindly served to us as Felix's "special guests". Each family member has his/her own special guests who are served their meal inside, in one of the family houses, as opposed to the other invited guests, who eat boxed meals under the outdoor canopies.
As we were getting ready to leave, Felix thanked all of us for coming -- me in particular, saying it was such an honor to have his "white lady boss" there, and people had already mentioned it to him. Although this made me uncomfortable, fraught as it was with elitism, racism and the vestiges of colonialism, I accepted his thanks in the spirit they were given, and to alleviate my own tension, teased him in response, "Oh, good, I guess that means you're now the 'big man' in your village!" We all laughed, but I think we all know how deeply complex my being there was.
On Friday, the national Farmers Day holiday, I filled the car tank (close to $50), grabbed my trusty Bradt guide and headed west as far as the fishing town of Winneba, wanting to see some Bradt-recommended sights along the way. Theoretically you can go as far west along the coast to Cape Coast and Elmina, however given the time it takes to get out of traffic-ensnarled Accra (plus I keep getting lost), and then the hellish traffic going through towns enroute, it wasn't a particular pleasant experience. Every little town has vendors in the street -- all selling the same foodstuffs and junk. Hard to figure out what the point is, as no one can be earning very much money.
I couldn't find some of the sights listed in the guide, there were some unpaved roads that I was not going to try to navigate without a 4x4, and it takes quite a while to get from the main road south along the feeder roads to the beach. I also got lost coming back into town and kept telling myself, "This is an adventure, this is fun, this is new, this is -- well, actually, it was just slightly less annoying than working for sheep.
Yesterday, though, was pretty amazing, because weekends in Ghana are also for funerals. A whole lot of people come from villages in regions throughout country -- where the languages and customs are all different -- and they go home to their village when there's a family funeral. The funeral can can take four or five days with all the arrangements, religious and traditional ceremonies and family gatherings. My impressions and very superficial knowledge are that going home to your village is mostly about comfort. It's about speaking your traditional language, being with family, seeing childhood friends, participating in traditions. Life is simple, easy, slow, predictable and cherished. You are someone because you're from somewhere -- where you're known and accepted.
Funerals in Ghana are ritualized celebrations, and when they say "celebration of life", they're not just paying lip service tribute...they're really celebrating. Black and white are the traditional mourning colors (though red is also worn, though I'm not clear why). The older the person who died, the more white is prevalent, the sentiment being that a person over 70 is dying naturally and at an appropriate age and has lived a long time so his/her life should be celebrated. After the church service, a band leads the coffin and on-foot processional to the cemetery for burial, after which the "mourners" (or rather, celebrants) are invited to the home of the deceased's family for a joyous celebration.
Felix is one of the two Communications specialists I supervise. His mother died a couple of months ago, but her funeral wasn't until yesterday because it takes quite a while to save and gather the funds necessary for all the funereal actitivities. In fact, it's customary for friends and colleagues to help defray expenses with a monetary gift, which is what both Venancious (the other specialist) and I did, as well as the project office as a whole. Three colleagues and I, plus one of our drivers, traveled 4-1/2 hours each way to attend the funeral in theVolta region village of Kadjebi, just on the western side of the mountains that form Ghana's eastern border with Togo.
It's a four and a half hour trip, and was very interesting for the first three hours. Then it got long. But during the first part of the trip there was lively conversation -- mostly about the political situation in Cote d'Ivoire, Ghana's neighbor to the west, where a disputed presidential election is a precursor to anything from violence in the streets to all-out civil war, sure to send Ivoriens fleeing next door to Ghana. Second favorite topic is soccer, with the World Cup having just been awarded to Russia and Qatar in --what? 2018 and 2022?!
We stopped in a small village for what might be considered "brunch" at home, because no one had had breakfast, given that we'd left Accra so early. This stop was at a "chop bar" -- someone's very modest shack where "local food" is served. As far as I can figure out, Ghanaians typically eat three meals a day, all of which are basically the same: a starch (maize, cassava, yam or rice -- or combination) that they eat with their hands, scooping up the "sauce" that's poured on it. The sauces have meat, fish, chicken or vegetables and they're very spicy. There's also a "soup", but I can't tell the difference from it and a "sauce". Actually, there are other local dishes, such as delicious grilled fish and potatoes, and grilled or fried chicen with "jollo" (spicy) or fried rice.
I try to be a good sport about new foods, but I'll never be a special guest on those Food Channel TV shows where the host (e.g., Anthony Bourdain?) is eating something very weird. So, at this chop enroute to the funeral, I just couldn't do it. The lady grabbed the cassava (or yam?) ball, slapped it into a bowl, and poured over it a sauce that had parts of an animal I do not want to eat, and that literally turned my stomach. I made some excuse and rushed out onto the street where I bought some bananas and "chips" (fried bread and groundnuts --peanuts) and then came back to play with the woman's five, six? grandchildren, all of whom clearly thought I was the most exciting thing to hit their village.
Then there's the issue of the bathroom when you go out of the city. There's no way to get around the fact that this can be quite a challenge, especially for a woman. As fussy as I am about my food, I'm probably fussier about my toilet. I'd much rather go behind a bush or rock than in some of the places I've been, but it's best to wear a skirt to do that. I was wearing pants (white, with a black top) and en route had to pee. One of my colleagues had a family member who lived nearby, and offered their outdoor facility. I was looking for/dreading the hole in the ground (a cement-lined "latrine" is considered a more developed concept), but turns out they had a cement-floored shower/pee room. Ah, the things you learn as a traveler...
By the time we arrived in Kadjebi, about 11:30 a.m., the church service had ended, so I have no idea what happened -- and wouldn't have understood it, anyway. I was much more fascinated by the music and dancing at the reception in the courtyard of Felix's village home -- and the fashion show. Even though not everyone wore black/white/red, many did -- custom-made dresses and shirts exqisitely tailored and literally cut from the same black-and-white patterned cloth. Felix's family chose to have all family members wear the same cloth (the black diamond-pattern seen in the photos), but everyone had a different style -- even the men and children. And the music and traditional dancing! Wonderful! I did some dancing, much to the delight of the local women. I did not, however, eat much of the meal so kindly served to us as Felix's "special guests". Each family member has his/her own special guests who are served their meal inside, in one of the family houses, as opposed to the other invited guests, who eat boxed meals under the outdoor canopies.
As we were getting ready to leave, Felix thanked all of us for coming -- me in particular, saying it was such an honor to have his "white lady boss" there, and people had already mentioned it to him. Although this made me uncomfortable, fraught as it was with elitism, racism and the vestiges of colonialism, I accepted his thanks in the spirit they were given, and to alleviate my own tension, teased him in response, "Oh, good, I guess that means you're now the 'big man' in your village!" We all laughed, but I think we all know how deeply complex my being there was.
xxoxoxo Love, Grammy
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