A Trip to Nyankpala Clinic

Before I go into this story, I must share with you the current scene as I’m writing this. I’m set up at my dining table watching a lightning storm illuminate the black sky outside my kitchen window. The arcs of our veranda are outlined with the white light of each flash and the palm trees become visible on the horizon for an instant before disappearing into the darkness once again. Thunder rumbles quietly amid the sound of the palm leaves shaking in the wind, until the sound is interrupted by the blaring call for prayers from the Mosque just beyond our house, wailing in Arabic for all to gather for 6pm prayers.

I love storms, so I am delighted to take it all in as I describe to you these last couple of days….

I think it’s fair to say that most foreigners never quite feel 100% most of the time here in Africa. The food is different, the purified water may not always be quite true to its name, the heat can be excruciating on our light skin, and things in general just aren’t up to the sterile conditions we are used to in the West. However, on Saturday I began to feel quite under the weather and spent the majority of the day trying to sleep off a headache and an achy body. The condition persisted on Sunday and by Monday it seemed inevitable that a malaria test was in order. At home when it is necessary to see a doctor, it is not a particularly difficult task-if we’re in a rush we can step into a walk-in clinic, we most likely have the phone number of our family doctor, or if it’s a real emergency, we can simple head to the hospital. Here in Tamale it is not quite so convenient- it is difficult to navigate a proper clinic where you can feel comfortable and confident with the level of care and accuracy you will be treated with; there are some expat stories of questionable clinics and prescriptions. One of my favourite stories that particularly illustrates this point was a friend’s visit to a clinic when he was worried about malaria or food poisoning. He was convinced to put a device on his head that was hooked up to an old computer which the doctor claimed would enable him to see inside his stomach. If the computer screen showed black x’s, these indicated salmonella and ecoli in his stomach. When asked where this device came from, the doctor replied that it was “the latest technology from NASA….at least that’s what the instructions say.”

Further, since touring the hospital during our first week in Tamale, this is also an option I refused to consider. Though there are surely some very qualified physicians treating 100’s of patients a day, the fact that they do not even have running water makes me greatly concerned about the sanitary conditions of the institute. Also, when a person goes there to see a doctor, they must wait among 30-40 other patients outside the 3 or 4 consultation rooms, making the visit a nearly day-long affair.

The best course of action is to ask a seasoned expat for a good clinic they know of. So on Monday morning I headed to Ricky’s Pharmacy, where I was told a good foreign doctor worked out of. This turned out to be a dead end, the attendants in the pharmacy had never heard of the doctor I was looking for. I stood in the street making phone calls and eventually was directed to the New Life Medical Laboratory, just across from the hospital. I must admit that by the time I arrived at the clinic I was feeling rather sorry for myself, hot from trekking around the city centre looking for a doctor, and wishing for something more familiar. Once in the clinic, I filled out the necessary paperwork, paid 4 Ghana Cedis to get the test, and then slouched into a plastic chair in the waiting room.

My first malaria test was negative so I went home having accomplished very little, and scheduled to return tomorrow morning since 2 or 3 negative tests are required to confirm you do not have the parasite. Tuesday morning produced a negative test as well which was good, but the problem remained that I didn’t feel good and as New Life is simply a laboratory, I needed to find another clinic to go to where I could see a doctor. A friend directed me to Nyankpala Clinic where two English doctors work on the University of Development Medical Campus. It took me three or four tries to flag down a taxi driver that knew of the place, but finally we were off. I had been told that the clinic was about 20 minutes west of Tamale, but I didn’t realize that Nyankpala was actually another town. We ended up out on the open “highway”, where I was graced with an amazing view of the open savannah, sprinkled with mud huts and baobab trees.

I got sucked into paying an outrageous amount for the taxi, but I was very thankful to be greeted by an English, female doctor once I got in the clinic. Everything was orderly and since the doctor and her husband (who is also a practicing physician in the clinic) have been in Africa for almost 40 years, there was no question she knew her stuff. In the end, I was simply experiencing some side effects from my malaria pills as well as a stomach bug.
It was about noon by the time I left the clinic and I was feeling quite tired, having dosed off a number of times in the waiting room. I asked for advice on the easiest and cheapest way to get back to Tamale and was directed to stand on the road and wait with some of the other UDS (University of Development Studies) students for one of the university buses heading into town. As I approached a small group of students, we were suddenly told to move away…there was a snake in the grass behind us. Some of the guys started throwing chunks of cement block at it until it slithered away out of sight. I turned from watching the snake, and was just in time to see the UDS bus whizz right by us, filled beyond capacity. I asked the student beside me if he thought another bus would come, and he figured perhaps one might come by in a half hour or so. He suggested we could walk to the main road and try to get a lift, so I joined him along with another girl carrying a baby on her back. At this point I couldn’t help but laugh at the whole crazy situation-here I was sweating and feeling ill, having just spotted my first African snake, and trotting down the road under the blaring sun with two strangers, about to hitchhike my way back into town. The girl with the baby was the first of us to catch a ride. She was taking her son to the hospital and managed to flag down a truck and squeeze into the back. My new friend, Shani, and I took shelter under a thatch roof where women were selling bread. After about 15 minutes another bus showed up and we tried to grab a spot but it was packed full and many others were trying to cram in ahead of us. On the other side of the road I saw an SUV approaching-SUV’s usually mean NGO’s so I was hopeful I could flag them down. They ended up being UDS profs, and kindly gave Shani and I a lift into town. They dropped us off in an area of town that was completely unfamiliar to me, and I was lucky that Shani walked me back into the city centre to grab a cab. When I got home I couldn’t even be bothered to fetch a bucket of water for a shower before I crawled into bed and zonked out for the remainder of the afternoon.

The Funeral

On Thursday our night watchman, Mohammad, invited us to attend a funeral with him. An elderly neighbour of his had passed away and the community was going to be holding a traditional Dagombe funeral celebration. In African Traditional Religion, funerals are a cause for celebration, particularly if you have passed away on the grounds of your own community and have bared a number of children to leave behind. It is believed that deceased ancestors will continue to be with the community, therefore it is important to give them a proper farewell in order to please them so they can return as a good spirit. Ayda and I were more than happy to have an opportunity to observe the celebration and we brought along two of our little next door neighbours to check it out.

The funeral took place at a mud hut community just north of Jiisonayilli and as we ventured over, there was no question we were headed in the right direction. We could hear gun shots, cow bells, drums, and people chanting from across the road. When we arrived we were greeted warmly by Mohammad and introduced to his wife and young son. We then joined the rest of the crowd to watch the “parade” of people conduct three circles around the deceased’s compound. Elderly men were decked out in their traditional clothing: a kente cloth smock, boots, and floppy velvet hats that look like a toque worn above the ear. Some rode on horses (which is interesting because we’ve never seen a horse in Tamale or in the fields), others danced and swung their smocks in a circular motion to the music. Younger men followed behind beating drums or shooting rifles into the air. The women danced among them all, shuffling their feet in something that resembles a two-step but with more lateral movement up top.

After the parade of people had circled the compound three times they performed three circles around an open area where the dancing would be taking place. Then the crowd began to split and three large circles were formed around various groups of drummers. In each circle people were approached individually by the drummers and beckoned to come show their moves in the middle. The crowd watched, moving to the music, and taking turns placing coins on the forehead of the dancers. My favourite dancer was a very short man wearing a big white smock and rose tinted glasses. He went out there moving slowly, tapping his boots and swinging his smock. He gradually began to move faster and faster, twisting his body to make his smock swoop in big circles, and flashing a big, contagious grin.

As dusk approached, a huge wind built up and we had to hurry back to get the girls home. The funeral celebrations were scheduled to break at 6pm for Muslim prayers and then continue all through the night until morning prayers the following day.

I awoke this morning trying to figure out why my ears felt like I’d been to a rock concert the night before, and then realized it was the gun shots ringing in my ears.

Ede Festivities

This weekend was a long weekend to celebrate Ede, the celebration for the end of Ramadan and the end of a one month fast for all Muslim people. Even though we had not taken part in the fast, we were encouraged to join in on the festivities taking place throughout the city. On Saturday we ventured to the city centre to walk around the cultural centre and check things out. It was evident that something special was going on- everyone was dressed in their Sunday best and many kids were wearing colourful plastic sunglasses that they received as gifts. The atmosphere in the city centre was more vibrant than we’d seen before and music boomed from the cultural centre. When we returned home late that afternoon we had a surprise visit from a local banjo artist. He knocked at our door and then came in to give us a fifteen minute concert of singing and strumming his African banjo. He had a really powerful voice and a big smile as he shook his bootie while he played.

Saturday evening we all gathered at Swad Restaurant for Lise’s birthday. There were about 17 of us out…a combination of Ghanaians and expats from all over the world. I made a banana cake for the occasion and even though there are bananas everywhere here the Ghanaians had never tried it before. Most Ghanaians don’t really like sweet things but Idris and Paul decided they could definitely make an exception for this cake. After supper we went to our first African Club at the Picorna Hotel. When we first got there it was pretty dead, but slowly the place filled up and we had a great time dancing to R&B and hip hop with all the locals.

Our group has slowly expanded this past week. Shawn and Nichole, a couple from Saskatchewan have arrived in Tamale and joined us for our evening out on Saturday. On Sunday, a new roommate from The Netherlands moved into the last empty room in the house. His name is Victor and he is an international economics student doing an internship with the World Food Program. We immediately warmed up to him last night when he and our buddy Morgan made a wonderful pasta dinner with beef sausages (the first time we’ve ever cooked meat in the house), steamed beans, SALAD!!, and a dessert liquor that Victor had brought from South Africa.

Thanksgiving and Farewell to John Alcorn

On Saturday morning I awoke with my hair looking unmistakably like Jack Sparrow’s from Pirates of the Caribbean. We had taken out the top of my braids the evening before, leaving me with a combination of matted locks amid the “dreads” that still remained. It was unanimously decided that it would be best that I did not attend the wedding I was planning to join Tanya and Morgan at. Instead my two roommates began to tackle the remaining braids with knives…working the tightly braided plastic hair out of own locks. Three hours later I emerged having shed my Jack Sparrow look-alike do for something that now resembled Diana Ross’s afro or a nasty rendition of those 80’s styles that most could only achieve from a long session with a crimper and an entire bottle of hairspray. Washing my hair for the first time in a week felt amazing; all in all the “African Makeover” was lots of fun but I think I’ll stick with ponytails from here on in ; )

On Saturday evening we were invited for a Thanksgiving Dinner at Nancy and Frank Cosway’s, two CIDA project workers who have worked in Ghana for a total of over 20 years, and most recently have been stationed here in Tamale for 7 years. Tanya and I were hoping to have departed freshly showered for our little celebration, but just after 3pm we were informed that the water had been turned off for an undetermined amount of time throughout Tamale and unfortunately, our polytank of reserve water turned out to be empty. Doused in a little extra mosquito spray we set off to try to flag down a tro-tro driver who would understand where the “Northern Regional Office” was. (This is one of the exasperating things about Tamale…you always have to know the magic “key word” that is necessary to get people to understand you. For example: “Do you have a bike lock”…confused face and no answer. “Do you have a lock…for bikes?”…still no answer or flicker of understanding. “I’m looking for a lock…to lock up my bike?” …finally an answer emerges.. "No…we don't have”. ) So Nancy had given us this key phrase, “Northern Regional Office”, to make our way to her bungalow. Forty-five minutes later after our driver insisted on a hugely inflated rate for his services, we ended up walking to the house, unable to direct our driver. Thankfully the meal had not yet begun and we were greeted warmly into a moderate bungalow decorated with beautiful authentic Ghanaian art and filled with the wonderful aroma of Thanksgiving Dinner. About 20 guests, a combination of young Canadian interns sprinkled with Sisters from one of the missionaries, sat in a round circle munching on groundnuts and enjoying the MacLeans magazines and Globe and Mail newspapers Frank had just brought from his trip to Canada. Our buffet style Thanksgiving was just as impressive as any spread found at home. We had turkey, stuffing with dried fruit, gravy, pumpkin, mashed potatoes, marinated vegetables, a vegetarian lasagna, and Greek salad. We all happily enjoyed our meals, chatting with other each other about the triumphs and trials of our experiences so far, swapping travel stories, and reminiscing of home. The amazing meal was completed with a pineapple upside down cake made from fresh, Ghanaian pineapples and chocolate chip ice cream!

By Sunday afternoon the water situation was beginning to become a lot more pressing than it had been the day previous. Our “family breakfast” used up the rest of our clean dishes and we were slowly sitting a little further away from one another as it had now been over 24 hours since any of us had showered, despite the sticky heat. We took turns using Kristine’s backpack and cycling (slowly, so as not to sweat)to the gas station to buy bags of water to at least wash our hands and faces. If the water is not on by tomorrow morning I will be using 500 mL sachets of water to “shower” for work.

Sunday night I attended a going away party for my “Ghanaian Dad”, John Alcorn, the temporary administrator at TICCS. He is an immigration lawyer from California who took a year off from his law practice to come and volunteer here in Ghana. The picture below is my original TICCS family- my little sister Lise, John and I. We all bid farewell to John at a barbecue under the starry African night with old time jazz and African tunes piping into the courtyard. I couldn't help but smile when a song I recognized from the African Summit cd strummed in the clear air of this calm, African night amidst the crickets and toads croaking softly in the background. It was just over a month ago that I had played that some song while I packed and daydreamed of the adventure before me.

My African Hair Makeover

Jisonayilli and Braids

Last week I moved into the new house that I’ll be renting a room in for the rest of my stay here. Our area of town is called Jisonayilli and it comes with a built in alarm clock at 4am…ie the Mosque right behind us. Haha It’s a great area of town though, the tennis courts and pool are just 10 minutes away and we are located on the same street as the army base so there are far fewer power outages here than in other areas of town. I’m about a 25-30 minute casual cycle from my house to Tamale Polytechnic now…and by the time I get to the office I’m very thankful for the air conditioning!

One of the most enjoyable parts of living in Jisonayilli is our Ghanaian “Mom”, Asiah, who lives in the house and looks after it. Asiah likes sharing her Ghanaian cuisine with us and so far the dishes have been really tasty. Her extended family lives in the compound right next to us so we always have visitors coming in and out of the house. Little kids come over to do their laundry on our driveway because we have a hose and I also discovered that they bathe in the backyard. On Saturday I was doing the dishes and realized the water pressure was really low. I looked outside and saw the kids out the window and figured they must be playing with the hose. But as I looked closer I saw that they were actually having baths in a couple of metal buckets they had brought over. I giggled a little to myself and then all of a sudden someone slapped my but from behind, prompting me to let out a yell of surprise. I turned around to see one of Asiah’s little cousins, a little girl with a couple of teeth missing, grinning mischievously and we both started laughing. She didn’t speak English but she hung out while I finished my work.

BRAIDS

On Saturday morning my “team” arrived at the house to put my hair in braids. One woman did the extensions while three girls crowded around finishing the braids. Four hours and two bags of plastic hair later, my “African Makeover” was complete. My first look in the mirror was a little shocking as I took in the image of my face framed in a mop of big, black braids that I didn’t recognize. Thankfully the women took it easy on their poor “slaminga” and didn’t pull too hard…they haven’t given me any pain at all. Apparently I don’t have to wash them for two weeks and can leave them in for the month. I’ll probably see if I can make it until Saturday…the hair seems to trap in the heat and makes me feel like I’m always wearing a plastic hat on my head.