Never Be the Same

July 30, 2015

I got in the taxi this morning and Jen (a legal fellow) asked how yesterday had turned out.  I paused.  I didn't know where to even begin.  All I could muster was a fatigued  "good."  Jen has been here several months already, so I knew she understood.  She handed me half of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich-- I couldn't have been more thankful.  Nothin' quite like the comforty goodness of a genuine PB&J.

So, yesterday.  Yesterday I accompanied our Aftercare team and Senior Attorney to the aftercare shelter (where the rescued boys have been living) and then to Ho, the capital city of the Volta Region.  Our team was facilitating the reunion of three of the rescued boys with their families.  Two additional boys were coming along for brief meet ups with their families before returning to the shelter.

Tracing. After boys are rescued, concerted efforts are made by DSW (the Department of Social Welfare) and our Aftercare team to locate each boy's biological family.  Many boys are trafficked to the lake from far away villages and haven't seen their families in years.  So tracing families is often like searching for a needle in a haystack and can take months.  Often, the only thing the Aftercare team has to work from is a name and a district given to them by the boy.  

When a family is located (sometimes quite miraculously), DSW and Aftercare conduct interviews and in-depth assessments of the home situation to determine if the family is fit to care for the boy.  In some cases, the boys' families were involved in their trafficking, and the boys themselves speak of their parents as wicked people.  The private aftercare shelter where the boys have been placed will be their home until a safe and stable permanent placement can be found.  

That "A" Team. I don't know everything that the Aftercare team does, but I've gotten to tag along with them several times and WOW.  They are an amazingly gifted group of professionals who I have seen work tirelessly on behalf of each boy.  They know each boy well and the boys love them.  This reunion between the boys and their families was the result of months of searching and interviewing and preparation.  This was a big day. 

We left the aftercare shelter early in the morning with the five boys to make the 3-4 hour journey to the Volta Region.  The day was a mish mash of emotions and experiences.  It was happy and sad, glorious and heartbreaking, exhausting and energizing-- all rolled into 17 hours.  Add some hugs and tears and singing and puking and you've just about got the idea.  

I would argue that I had the best job of everyone on the trip as I got to hang out with the boys all day.  One by one, they met with our team, DSW, the police, and their parents.  I spent most of the day happily sandwiched between the two youngest boys as they wrote in colorful new workbooks.  (And let me tell you, their attention spans are LONG.) One of the boys didn't know a lick of English six months ago.  Now he was succeeding fabulously with his letters. 

I wish I could show you their pictures and the video of them chatting away.  Take my word for it: Cute with a capital "C."

After three bittersweet goodbyes and some pretty teary eyes, we were ready to head back to the shelter.  About 2 hours into the trip, one of the remaining two boys started to sing and then slowly the van became quiet.  That boy's mother had failed to show up to meet with him.  So sad.  I looked back and saw the boys were both asleep, using each other as human pillows.

The whole experience evinced a feeling in me that it was a day I had truly lived.  I had witnessed an amazing part of these boys' stories, and I had seen justice, hope, and joy with my own eyes.  It was more than I could fully take in-- it still is.  

As a member of the Aftercare team debriefed the staff the next day, he commented on the clear care and concern demonstrated by DSW and police-- an encouraging development.  As an "issue" of child labor it may be easy for officials to misunderstand or dismiss, but as my colleague said, "Once you meet the boys you will never be the same." 

Truth.

P.S. You may be wondering...

How do boys end up on the lake in the first place?

There are many ways a boy can end up in forced labor/ slavery on Lake Volta.  Poor villages along the coast of Ghana are prime targets for traffickers.  Families are incredibly poor, and often have already engaged their very young boys in fishing from the ocean shore.  Traffickers take boys from these communities to one of thousands of villages on Lake Volta to work for them or for another boat master.  The kids endure neglect, trauma, starvation, and sleep deprivation.  Some traffickers are members of the extended family or acquaintances of the family who use deception to gain consent of parents-- promising that the boy will be taught a trade and attend school.  Other boys are taken on school holiday to work but are never returned.  Such a boy is essentially lost to the parent who may spend years searching for him.  Sometimes parents willfully sell their child to a trafficker-- ridding themselves of a mouth to feed and gaining much-needed income in the exchange.

What is the cultural attitude toward child labor?

What seems very obvious to an outside observer is that trafficking and exploiting a child to work everyday on a lake in a small wooden boat is not only dangerous, but unethical.  Seven year old boys should be learning their alphabet, sleeping 10 hours a night, and skinning their knees on the playground.  But in many parts of Ghana, cultural norms are such that many don't blink an eye at child labor-- even the most abominable forms like we see on Lake Volta.  Why?  It's been part of the way things are done for many, many years.  It's economical and easy to put children to work.  Children are not children, they are cheap labor. They have no rights, no intrinsic value, no legitimate needs.

So the culture and the law are in conflict.  What next?

Well, great question.  Enforcing the law is crucial.  Right now, impunity is change's worst enemy.  The risk of using children in labor has to be greater than the reward.  We believe that over and above other strategies, deterrence through prosecutions is the best and most efficient answer to those who choose to enslave children.  You can't teach it out of perpetrators or negotiate your way to better behavior.  Perpetrators must hear and see the great "NO."  Step by step, Ghana will get there.  It's a lot to change--a time-worn mindset isn't easily undone.  And so we pray and we continue to move forward, even if by inches.  We look forward to the day when no one would dare use a child on Lake Volta.  



grateful.
alayna.

#icanfingerspell?

#coldbucketshowers.   Sooo, someone hasn't showered in 3 days. (I'm sure my rommate is loving me for it.)  Blame it on a fever. And dumsor.  Dumsor literally means "on/off" and is how we talk about the common power outages.  Most of the power in Accra comes from the dam at Akosombo, and as far as I understand it, the government turns the power off as needed.  We have a battery and inverter at my house that power a few lights and outlets.  The question is how much juice they've got left.

Akosombo Dam, Volta River

 

So bring on the cold bucket showers-- just not until tomorrow.  I was just thinking back to the last time I was sick in Africa.  In 2009, I was living in a remote village and developed a severe case of esophagitis.  The village medical person (read: not a doctor) suggested I treat my mysterious illness by giving myself a shot (in the butt) for amoeba.  Ummm....NO thank you. Let's just say I am very thankful that getting medical help here is cake in comparison.

Here in Accra, I took a taxi down to the pharmacy, did a quick malaria test, got some tylenol and a sports drink, and went back to bed.  All for 12 cedis.  (That's a whole 4 bucks.)  So sweatin' off a fever and bodyaches is okay by me.  I got resources (!) and no one is telling me to inject myself with worm-killing drugs.  Not to mention I got a Texan woman named Bev (an IJMer's wife) lookin' out for me.  So, things are on the up and up, even if my "sick day" craving for eggo waffles has to wait until I get back to PA.

#tasernotrequired.  Several evenings ago, I was walking on the cool new sidewalk by my house when a tall young man made an assertive beeline in my direction.  I couldn't read him as he approached-- and admittedly, it was a bit unnerving.  But I had my "special" flashlight (i.e. taser) in hand.

He said hello and smiled. (All good.)  He introduced himself as Ishmael and welcomed me to the neighborhood.  We talked for a few moments.  I noticed his English was stellar.  I learned he had just finished university.  I thanked him for coming to speak with me, he pointed out where he lived, and we wished each other a good evening.  As I walked away, I was struck by his courage and hospitality.

Truth is, most people around here are very kind and open. 

#foreverfavorites.  My favorite Ghanaians though are the ones I work with everyday.  Ama (Senior Attorney and my boss), Festus, Benson (our Kenyan), Tina, Patrick, Anita, Ade, an investigator who I can't name, Randy, Henry, Dennis, Francis, Bernard, and Janette.  Office culture is marked by laughter and lightheartedness, professionalism and kindness. They're the best-- and just hands down amazing human beings. 

#ballerstatus.  This past weekend, Kyle (a legal fellow from Texas) and I went to see Bernard (pronounced Ben-od) play soccer (aka futball).  In true American form, we showed up early... to an empty field.  As teams began to arrive, we looked for Bernard.  No sign of him.  

We went to both sidelines, and then we noticed something.  Everyone on the field was silent. Both teams were fully comprised of boys who were deaf and mute.  And Bernard wasn't there...yet.

Watching two deaf teams play soccer was fascinating.  The ref waved a white towel instead of blowing a whistle.  Everything was communicated in sign language and facial expressions.  Emotions ran high, just quietly.  At one point a coach smiled and signaled to me as if he was telling me to go in and play.  HA!  One player, Kofi, came to greet us, and Kyle and I were somehow (magically) able to finger spell our names.

#17 Bernard

Then Bernard's team played.  Much noiser, this crowd.  This ref wore street clothes and had no issues blowing his whistle.  He handed out yellow cards like they were candy (5 in all) and even whipped out a red card at one point. He even called a foul on a goalie in the box, which caused a small riot.  Let's just say it was super entertaining.  And these dudes are athletes--sheesh! Bernard played the entire game, and is an excellent midfielder!  So fun to watch!

We definitely want to see another futball game. In the meantime, I think I'll go contemplate filling my bucket with cold water while I eat pineapple (thank you, Charity) and turn on some tunes.  Back to work tomorrow, I think.

Speaking of tunes, these two songs have kind of become the anthem of my summer.  Enjoy!

Below My Feet by Mumford and Sons.

...and...

Captain by Hillsong United.

grateful.
alayna.



I met them on a Tuesday

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Today I got to meet the rescued boys. Three months ago, all of them were engaged in hazardous forced labor on Lake Volta.  Today they are in a shelter where they are fed, clothed, and cared for by professional and caring staff.  They go to school and have regular meetings with a counselor.  They play.  And dance.  And sing.  

And finally, they are safe.

As the legal team loaded in the van this morning to drive to the shelter, I felt as if I'd been waiting forever for this moment.  I've spent the last few weeks pouring over transcripts of the boys' post-rescue interviews, needs assessments, and summary reports that our aftercare specialists put together.  For every document I read, I would find their picture and match a face to the story. 

I've been working with our case management system, pulling out legally relevant facts from these documents and matching them with suspected perpetrators and elements of relevant crimes.  I learned a lot about each of the boys-- their family history, how they ended up at the lake, their opinions of the people in their lives and their feelings about being off the lake.  I also read about the trauma and abuse each of them had suffered.  The missing piece: I hadn't actually met any of them.  Until today.

 

Even with my legal understanding of human trafficking and the 'worst forms of child labor,' I wasn't completely prepared for what I read.  The boys had spoken of the fear they had of storms on the lake, diving into the water to untangle nets, and witnessing others drown.

They had recounted waking up at 1 o'clock in the morning to set nets-- six days a week.  They spoke of being beaten by their masters and suffering from sickness, severe injuries, and hunger.  Some should be in kindergarten, others in high school.  All had been doing this for at least a year.  Some had no memory of their previous life or biological family, while others remembered their past and their trafficking vividly. 

At the end of one interview that I read, one little boy expressed how excited he was to be off the lake because now he could go to school and realize his dreams.  Like many of the boys, he had never been in school.  Today, I got to meet him.  

As I sat in the office of the shelter's director, I turned my head to see a boy looking at me through the open door.  He stood at a distance with a big toothy smile across his face.  I recognized him right away.  I gave him a quick wave.  He waved back, and for a moment I thought he might have mistaken me for someone he knew.  But as I left the office a few minutes later to join the boys in the courtyard, he came right up to me with a kind of eager shyness and another big smile. I introduced myself and extended my hand.  He told me his name, and all I could think was, "Yes, I know exactly who you are!"  I found out he likes soccer and that we share the same favorite local food. 

I got to observe his English class after the break, and I watched as he sat quietly and attentively with his notebook open in front of him.  At one point, the teacher wrote a letter on the whiteboard and asked "What letter is this?"  He raised his hand and gave the correct answer, turned around and looked at me-- beaming.  I gave him the biggest, proudest smile in return.

Wow.  As I walked out of his classroom several minutes later, uninvited tears welled up in my eyes.  Go get those dreams, dear one.  Go get 'em.  I looked out the window that overlooks the grounds and prayed for all the boys.  These boys are walking miracles to me, and I felt beyond privileged to be with them today. 

"Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear."  Isaiah 59:1

My head is hard and I won't marry you

I am looking forward to a couple upcoming blog posts about my internship and about meeting the nine boys who were rescued off the lake in March.  Because of the sensitive nature of our casework, I am having drafts reviewed before I publish them.  In the meantime, here are a couple recent "life as I know it" moments....


Concussions are rough.  Two Saturdays ago, I thought I'd go for a run in my neighborhood.  It was about 10am.  It was warm, but I thought "Meh, I'll be fine."  So I took off through the streets, greeted along the way by kids and adults alike.  As I passed one guy, I got a "You look tired."  Thanks, dude.

My neighborhood, Labone.

Okay, I admit. It was dang humid.  I got home, got a slight headache and then...bam.  The next thing I know I am on my back, coming back to consciousness.  I realized I had fainted and had hit my head on the cement floor as it was throbbing like nuts.  I 'what'sapped' a couple pals who came and peeled me off the floor (okay, a slight exaggeration). I felt like a wilted vegetable.

I spent the next 3 hours in a semi-catatonic, mildly nauseous state, waiting for the periodical "don't fall asleep" as I sipped a homemade pineapple smoothie.  I slept for two days, was foggy for one and then was good to go. Lesson learned: Run at 6am. No later.

 Hot and humid this rainy season.

"You are marriage?"  It's not an uncommon question for a white girl in a taxi.  Basically, I take taxis everywhere.  Conversations with taxi drivers don't happen all the time, but when they do it's not boring.  Everything from dust storms to language lessons, Obama, gay marriage, and Jesus come up in taxis.  So do marriage proposals.  This time I was leaving the grocery store, and a parked taxi driver calls out to me as I walked toward him.

Grocery store in Osu.

I told him where I needed to go-- remember: no addresses, just landmarks.  So, in my slow, staccato American-Ghanaian accent, I say, "Ah, do you know Labone? G4S?"  I am in luck. He does and then the bartering begins:
Me: "How much?"
Driver: 10 cedis.
Me (I act appalled- it's part of the game):  "Oh too high! I will go for 6."
Driver (it's his turn to act appalled):  "Ohhhhhh..nooo....8 cedis."
Me: "Ah, no.  I never go for more than 7."  He is unconvinced.  I tell him I will go find another taxi.  Driver: "Wait, what is your name?"
Me (in my head): Ha! No way, man. But now I have another bartering chip.
Me: "If you take me for 7 cedis, I will tell you my name."

I win. I thought.  I hop in, introduce myself.  His name is George and from Accra.  Then....
George: "You are marriage?"
Me: "Am I married? No, I am not married. I have a boyfriend."
George: "If you decide to not go with boyfriend than I will marriage you. I like to marry a white woman." 

Now a veteran at the "are-you-marriage" conversation, I begin my inquisition... and my "yes, I'm sure I can't marry you." Where would we live? Why should a white girl marry you?  Do you ask every white girl who gets in your taxi to marry you? Why do you want to marry a white girl?

George's stated answer to my last question surprises me: "White women don't cheat. Once a white woman tells you she loves you, everything is fine." 
Fascinating generalization.  I do my neighborly duty and tell him that white women with rings on their fingers cheat too.  Sorry to burst your bubble, George.

Off to bed.  Gotta run in the morning... and catch a taxi. 

grateful.
alayna.

Recipe: Easy Peasy Plantain Chips

Plantain chips are kind of a big deal around here.  And boy oh boy are they addicting!  Charity (our angelic house help) happily agreed to show me how to make them--the Ghanaian way.  Woot woot!  They're easy peasy and super yummy. Enjoy!

What you'll need:

• Plantains (green are best, but ripe will work)
• Vegetable oil
• Strainer
• Two small bowls/ containers (one for oil drips, one for finished plantains)
• Salt and water
• Saucepan
• Slotted spoon 
  
  
  

  

  Oil (save it and reuse it) and salt

1.  Fill small bowl / container with water and salt.

2. Slice plantains (circles or strips work.)  

3. Soak in salt water for a few minutes.

4. Heat oil in saucepan on stove.

4.  Carefully drop soaked plantains into hot oil.  Careful, it's a hot job!

5.  If the plantains are ripe, they will stick together and stay pretty soft as they cook.  Ripe ones will also brown quickly.  Remove before they get this dark:

6.  Use your slotted spoon to remove from oil.  Place in strainer.  Let cool.

Wah la!

While they're great as is, they're also good with hummus.

Cooked plantains are a good source of vitamins A, B6, and C, as well as potassium, and magnesium.  Not taking into account the oil, they are 97% carbs, 2% protein and 1% fat.

A lot of Accra and a little reggae

My roommate is in the kitchen cutting up fruit....  (Think: the biggest mango you have ever seen.  Add some pieces of pineapple) ....SCORE! Out comes a full bowl for me!  Yesssss.....Even the watermelon is good (and I don't like melons.)  So join me for five glorious minutes while I eat this bowl of tropical goodness and fill you in on a few of my favorite cultural tidbits from two weeks in Accra.

I wasn't sure what to expect from big city life in West Africa.  My past experience in Africa was in RURAL areas.  Living in Accra (pronounced uh-CRAW), the capital city of Ghana, has been a pretty easy adjustment in comparison.  Nonetheless, there has been a lot to take in!

The city of Accra is 67 square miles and home to 2.3 million people.  Originally centered on British, Danish, and Dutch forts, the city now sprawls with many neighborhoods-- from sections of high-priced high rises and fancy suburban homes to the recently bulldozed slums of Sodom and Gomorrah (no, really, that was the name.)  It's a city of jarring juxtapositions and constant action.

Every commute is a full experience, full of fascinating sights, smells, sounds and even tastes to take in.  Without fail these days, one person in our carpool will pay a cedi for plantain chips while we are stopped at a light and men and women walk amongst the cars. (So yummy, p.s!)  This past week, I sprung for a towel.  Yes, that's right.  I bought a towel from a guy for 2 cedis.  (That's approx. 50 cents).  Toilet paper, sim cards, groundnuts (way better than peanuts), gum, and windshield wipers are also usually available. 

Groundnuts

June and July are the rainy season here, which means it has cooled off considerably in recent weeks.  The breezes off the ocean are to die for, and while the sky often threatens rain, we haven't had any monsoon-status rains in weeks.

I live in Labone (see above right).


Okay, so here are a few "city life" cultural things that I find pretty interesting:

Lesson #1. Obrunis (white people) get honked at A LOT. Don't think it's a cat call or a warning or simply because you're cool.  Honking at you is a taxi driver's way of saying, "Pick me! Don't walk. STOP WALKING. You neeed me to drive you!!" (Most drivers honk once or twice.  The record so far though, 8 times. Oh yeah, hissing is a thing too-- it's not mean, just a "hey, you!")

Lesson #2.  When you are eating in the presence of others, one should invite them to eat your food with you.  "You're invited," is all you gotta say.  Kind of love this one-- it's reflective of the communal, "my resources are your resources" way of life.

Lesson #3.  Addresses and street names are irrelevant pieces of information when trying to get from place to place. It's all about landmarks and neighborhoods. That's ALL. 
Having good friends who are also drivers can keep you on the "cutting edge" when it comes to directing other taxi drivers to your destination.  By the way, get your barter on.
   

While living in Accra has its own set of norms, some things about city living remind me of life in my Tanzanian village-- namely, the friendly, beautiful people, the high value placed on respect for your elders, and the love of bright colors, music and dancing.  This kid was willing to show us his moves:

Speaking of dancing, last weekend some friends and I spent a couple days at a beach about an hour outside of Accra called Kokrobite.  The highlight was a surfing competition with surfers coming from the local village, the Ivory Coast, and Togo. There were even some Obrunis from Down Under.

Every Friday night in Kokrobite, one of the resorts, Big Millie's Backyard, hosts a crew of dancers who show off mind-boggling Ghanaian dances.  It's captivating, loud, spirited, and everyone seems to have the rhythm in their bones.  

On Saturday nights, even after a torrential downpour, a reggae band shows up and brings down the house.... err...raises the thatch?  Anyway, dancing in the mud with a bunch of people who love Bob Marley and are out-and-out naturals cuttin' the rug was an unforgettable moment.  Kind of surreal actually. And beyond fun. 


On that note, I'm off to bed.  Long, full, awesome week.  More on that later.  

grateful.
alayna.

The Scoop

 

 

Akwaaba! I am in Ghana for the summer working for a global human rights organization. Here's the SCOOP!

 

The Basics:

Who: International Justice Mission

What: Global team of lawyers, social workers, and 
      investigators

When: Founded in 1997 by Gary Haugen

Where: 18 Field Offices in Africa, Latin America, and Asia

Why:  Inspired by God's call to love all and seek justice

How: Partnering with local authorities to:

• Rescue Victims
• Bring criminals to justice
• Restore survivors
• Strengthen justice systems   

 

Throughout the developing world, the threat of violence is part of everyday life for the poor.  The poorest are so vulnerable because their justice systems don't protect them from violent people.

Here in Ghana, IJM is working specifically on cases of forced child labor/ slavery in the fishing industry on Lake Volta. 


The largest man-made lake in the world, Lake Volta's shoreline is 33,554 miles and is home to 1,232 fishing villages constituted primarily of impoverished rural communities. The National Fisheries Association of Ghana estimates that 80,000 fishers and 20,000 fish processors and traders work on or near the lake. 
 
According to a Ghana Statistical Service study, tens of thousands of children work on Lake Volta. In 2013, IJM investigators spent weeks undercover-- documenting the harsh conditions that children as young as four endure.  They found that as many as 60% of the boys they came into contact with were slaves.  Many of the boys had been trafficked from villages hours away. 

"It quickly became quite easy--and heartbreaking-- to spot the boys who were being held as slaves," one Senior Investigator remarked. 

"The boys held as slaves wore torn, dirty and ragged clothing. Many wore no clothes at all—nothing. Most of these boys had distended stomachs, skin diseases, hair falling out, and open sores and wounds. Some were openly crying as we approached. Others looked completely exhausted and their eyes, vacant of emotion." To read the Investigator's reflections, click here.

So how EXACTLY does IJM combat forced labor slavery?

We will rescue children from slavery in the fishing industry by

helping law enforcement locate children being held as slaves, and will work with Ghanaian police and anti-trafficking forces to rescue them and bring them to a safe place.

 

We will bring criminals to justice by supporting law enforcement

partners to collect evidence and by assisting public prosecutors as
they take traffickers and criminals to trial for slavery crimes under Ghanaian law.

We will restore survivors by helping them heal from the trauma and

finding a safe place where they can thrive—either back home with
their families or in a shelter where they will receive an education
or training. We will work with aftercare providers and other NGOs already on the ground.
  

We will strengthen justice systems by equipping Ghana’s antihuman

trafficking unit and law enforcement agencies to investigate and
respond to child trafficking, and strengthening the coordination
between law enforcement and social services that is essential to successfully prosecuting traffickers.
 

IJM has completed one operation already. Stay tuned for that story...

 In the meantime, here is a "must see" TEDtalk:
"The hidden reason for poverty that the world needs to address now" by Gary Haugen, IJM President and CEO (with over 1 million views).

                     
                 

 alayna.