Libation send-off

Sunday evening, the community hosted a ceremony for us, similar to the welcome ceremony from the beginning of the summer. In typical Ghanaian fashion, the 2pm ceremony became, 4pm, then 6, then 7, and then whenever the elders showed up, which they eventually did. Sammy, our foreman, Raymond, the chief's chief warrior and our go-to man on the worksite, the masons, Idi, Fred, and Hashana, and the nameless old man who collected the worksite's tools every day from different people's homes and brought them to the work site for us to use, also showed up. We arranged plastic chairs in our compound's courtyard and our group sat in one half, while the community members who showed up sat in the rows across from us. An elder in a matching purple and white tie-dyed pants and shirt addressed us, and thanked us for the work we did on and for the community center. Then two women got up and placed kente cloths around the group leaders necks. Kente is a fabric identified with Ghana, that is woven on a special type of loom, only by men. They are traditionally worn by royals in special ceremonies. Anyhow, these women came around and then placed a kente cloth around each of the participants' necks. Then an older gentleman with cloth wrapped around his waist and shoulder in traditional fashion, came to the front the community's row, and offered libations, from the two bottles of gin we offered to the community (appropriate thanks for their hosting us this summer). The man was the strongest and most sinewy human being I have ever laid my eyes upon - you couldn't work out to get this kind of muscle definition. I can only presume that this anatomical definition came from lifetime of physical work. Anyhow, Mr. Sinew in Wrapped Cloth made the libations offer, took some shots, and then passed the bottle to the elders, and community members, of which all partook. When you take a shot, you drink most of the alcohol in the glass, and then pour out a few drops, to honor the ancestors. Ben, Sara, and I were offered a shot, and to this, we acquiesced, but stopped the bottle before it touched the lips of any participant. After the ceremony (it pretty much ends when the drinks come out), there was a drum circle and dancing, a festive and great way for us to spend our last night in Golokuati.

I wish I went to church more often.

Sunday morning we went to church - the Queen of Peace Catholic Church to be exact. This is one of 25 churches in our town of 3500, and the church that Gladys, our cook, and her family attends. We got dressed in our Shabbos clothes (unlike some of the other women, I chose not to wear a dress with printed pictures of the Hohoe archdiocese and Ghana bishop on it...), and one participant wore his kippah (head covering). At church, we sat with Gladys and one of her sons, quietly listening to the preacher's sermons, which were a mix of Ewe and English. In the first (of four) sermons, the preacher gave us a shout out, and welcomed the white people to the congregation. He welcomed his white brothers, and white sisters. There was drumming and singing throughout the whole service - by both men and women, and no kneeling (while we were there). Holy water was splashed on us a few times (not a sprinkle, but a full-on splash). We were told not to take communion because we weren't Catholic (another shout out to the group). It was really beautiful, and I wish we had made more efforts to attend church while we were in Golokuati.

The highlight was the end of the service. The preacher called up the group, and 17 awkward white Jews nervously walked up the aisle to the bimah (I don't know what else to call it). The preacher gave us a blessing for the work we had done, for what we believed in (he said it was the same thing as Christians), and then pulled up the kid who wore the kippah. He really stands out because of his bright red hair. The preacher said something about him, the congregation laughed, and then we got more holy water drenched on us. The congregation laughed, as we didn't know to turn our heads down as the preacher blessed us, and I walked away with water dripping off my hair, into my eyes, and down my blouse.

I wonder how many 50 kg bags of cement I lifted this summer?

We brought our efforts on the work project to a close a week and a half ago. In the course of 7 weeks, we made over 1300 bricks, learned how to mix foundation and mortar, laid the bricks for the exterior wall, leveled the remaining property, and nearly completed the excavation of a manhole (for a septic tank) - an 8 foot deep hole, behind our site. It was without a great deal of fanfare that our last work day ended - there were a few more pictures taken than usual, and the participants kept jumping in and out of the manhole to see if they could get out (they all eventually did), and we said goodbye to Sammy, our foreman, Raymond, the chief's chief warrior and our go-to man on the work site, and the masons, Idi, Fred, and Hashana.

That evening, we had a wonderful Shabbat at which we invited the NGO liasion who worked with us, and our cook and her family. We had baked several challot this week, and we have come a long way from the over-risen, rock hard cracker that characterized our first forays into bread-making in temperamental Ghanaian ovens and humid weather. The rest of the weekend was spent packing and cleaning our rooms - amazing the mess that can be made by 15 teens (and 3 group leaders) in just 7 weeks!

On my mind

Thoughts for you:

1, What does it mean for a city that experiences mass destructive? Its citizens? Its landscape? Its built environment?

2, What happens when an outside expert approaches the place of destruction? When the outside expert imposes ideas for damage mitigation? Rebuilding of place? Of form?

3, What happens when physical triggers to memories are lost? Does it differ when it is a man-made destruction as compared to a natural disaster? Does natural disaster still exist?

Gender Roles

What is it like to be in a situation where genders are not treated equally? This can be any observation, experience, moment, and is a valid question for women, men, transfolk, and gender-queer individuals.

The way you dress? The way you are expected the dress.

Your name, how you are referred to and by whom.

Your upbringing, what you were encouraged to pursue, if anything at all.

More on this idea soon.

Raphael Lemkin

http://www.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/europe/11/13/sbm.lemkin.profile/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

'Raphael Lemkin asked, "Why is the killing of a million a lesser crime than the killing of a single individual?" '

At what point do you stop your silence?

At what point does one stop and take a stand against something that just doesn't sit right with them? You might glare at a parent shushing their children, but would you stand up and say, "You can't speak to your child that way?" Probably not. Would you stop a fight between two people on the street? Doubtful, assuming you didn't know them. How about when you hear about a bombing somewhere? Do we stand up to attention? people say, not anymore, but I am hard-pressed to remember a time when reading of daily bomb blasts in various parts of the world were cause for serious alarm by many people outside the immediate geography of the blast. Shit, most decades of the 1900s have experienced some form of genocide and most people remain complacent, responding the now expected, "Oh the situation in Kosovo, tragic...Afganistan, terrible those innocent people...Tibetans are just so oppressed...its not our prooblem...oh there is just so much fighting in the poverty-stricken Darfur...such tragedy in Mumbai and all that fighting with the Hindus and Muslims...what's happening in Congo again?"

I like to think that we humans are more than the mere brutes Freud deemed our race. I like to think that we care for our fellow human beings, that on some level we see a fraction of ourselves in others (isn't that what stops us from inflicting our will on others at our whim?) But the massive spouts of violence that speckle every newspaper page, for as long as I can remember, make me question my instincts that we are basically good, and above the brutes as Freud views us. How have we, as a people in the world, sat by in unmotivated silence as we safely in our homes reading of the massive killings happening in Sudan daily? How can a government have done so little to ameliorate a genocide happening under our watch?

How can we sit by and do nothing to stop the shocking amount of rapists literally pillaging their way across Congo? Thousands upon thousands of women are raped, and what have we done to speak out against such base violence?

They, unfortunately, are but two incidents out of thousands, of extreme violence in every sense of the word, and we, as members of the human race, are complicit in these acts. We have done nothing, at any meaningful scale, to speak out against these atrocious acts. We have done nothing to educate people. We have found no way to convey the humanity being ripped from people in other parts of the world. We have not connected with others experiencing tragedy in modes most people could never comprehend. And we, as humans, are suffering because of it.

These examples are symptomatic of deep-seeded violence and hatred. Certainly these feeling have existed throughout human history, probably in some degree in most cultures. But in this global world in which we live, how can any excuse of not knowing and not having some mode of communication be acceptable?

We must learn that acts of violence are not just acts against an individual, or even a group. They are acts against us all. His Holiness the Dalai Lama describes the world as an atom. Several have philosophized about similar ideas. But when do we really take notice? When there is an act of violence against a member of our religion? Our neighbors? Our country? Or gender? Our sexual orientation? Just start drawing lines around yourself, and you will find us on a slippery path further away from our abilities to connect with others in the human race.

Grab onto something and see its ability to connect you to others. Realize you have the ability to be a part of groups beyond typical associations. A violent act against a woman is most certainly a violation against her, her person, and her dignity. It is also an act of violence against women in her vicinity, her regional geography, and against all women. once we magnify the ramifications of violent acts, we ultimately realize these are acts against all humans.

It isn't easy to change the world. But there are examples throughout history that shows it can be done. One man changed civil rights in racist America through civil disobedience. Another became a hero in fractioned India. One women wrote the manifesto of women's rights. And such is our history.

As one old sage put it, "first do no harm," and as another one recently wrote, " Imagine if this maxim could be observed just a fraction of the time by a tiny segment of humanity, how much suffering might be avoided."