Rinse and Repeat
The everyday supplies for Ghana. Most notably my journal, Burt's Bee's chapstick, and some handy Chacos for the market.
Women were screaming, children were crying, and men were forcefully praying. My flight from Amsterdam to Accra was the most turbulent experience of my life, and I honestly thought that there was a likelihood of death. The plane was consistently shaking and my stomach kept dropping. The man next to me clenched the headrest in front of him and yelled, “Jesus, save us!” Out of anxiousness, I puked in a disposable bag before the plane even took off, restless for moving to a developing country. When we landed in Accra, I had seven more puking episodes.
We were to be taken to the Akrofi-Christaller Institute in the village of Akropong. On our way, we were stopped by Ghanaian policemen who carried semi-automatic weapons and was to examine our vehicles. To my surprise, our driver slipped a charitable bribe to the officer and we were on our way.
In the following morning’s light, I was able to see the poverty that is captured in the village. The streets are lined with red dirt roads, The village shops made of concrete walls and roofed with rusty sheet metal, with little or usually no electricity. I could smell the open sewage gutters of the streets. When the street power goes out in the village, you can hear people boo in their homes. Out of culture shock and residual airplane sickness, I puked and tried to sleep for the next six hours.
A rooftop look at the village of Akropong.
My team here has been very genuine and caring, yet heartlighted and humorous. I’ve noticed that through the poverty, we’re keeping comicality close to our hearts to keep the transition of living next to poverty a lesser intensity. Jokes such as ridiculous puns (thanks to the wonderful Jamin), and questions such as “what rap lyrics would you have engraved into your tombstone?” are keeping us going. The other day I saw my face in a mirror for the first time in three days. A lizard climbed up the inside of my skirt. I accidentally locked myself in a Ghanaian bathroom and someone had to get me out with a screwdriver. I met with a Ghanaian chief, danced with his people, and traversed across the Tongo Hills. I met with women and children who used to be trafficked and taken advantage of. I went hiking and climbed Mushroom Rock, with village children following me and yelling, “obrune!”, then humming along with me when I rested at the top.
The everyday lunch. Jollof rice with fish. I've learned how to debone a fish quickly. Most Ghanaians just eat the bones. They're intense.
I lived in the village for a week. I’ve learned the Akan tribe’s expression, nkrabea mu ni kwatibea, meaning, “you cannot avoid the destiny that God has assigned.” My interpretation? I can't avoid being a designer. Though many people in the village live and observe their indigenous religions’ customs and practices, the expansion of outside influences has changed patterns of culture. I’m noticing that, more often than not, Ghanaians adopt foreign aspects into their worldview, but first adapt them to fit into their ideas on the nature of their physical and spiritual environments, like krabea mu ni kwatibea. Just as life in Africa and it’s traditions can’t be separated, so the physical and spiritual can’t be separated. As westerners, we need to understand that religion in Africa is not inferior, and to acknowledge that it’s the most common denominator for all of us humans. As for Africans, their Christianity veiled as agents of change has to be accomplished—admit shortcomings, take action in social change, and drive economic and political innovation. Until then, we must care more, do what we say we’re going to do, stand in other people’s shoes, fix what’s broken, change how people feel, think beyond what’s possible, get over your fears, don’t wait for an invitation, then rinse and repeat.
What does this have to do with design?
Still working on the tan.
As of today, I have met with seven NGOs and non-profits, and discussed their initiatives ming forward. I’m working to understand the Ghanaian landscape, learning how they feel empowered day in and day out, and know that the road to making the world a better place through design is not an easy one. Although these lessons were learned in the fields of rural Africa, they are just as applicable in the open-spaced design offices in Grand Rapids. There are still countless systemic issues facing our financial, healthcare, and educational systems here at home. Design consultancies cannot fix these problems on their own. It requires a change in mindset from all individuals and organizations.
I worry deeply about the emotional drain these businesses may experience as they face stereotypes (often derived from media portrayals of Africa from the silver screen and news alike) that consistently portray Africa through a narrow lens of disease, conflict, or poverty. “Do they have bathrooms?” is born of that portrayal and that narrow-mindedness. My goal to master presence at all times and establish a long-term engagement with these organizations is working. For the most part, it's been discouraging to see how development is working in Ghana and the way ignorant, dehumanizing westerners objectify African village children and romanticize poverty. But at the same time, I want to take the time to understand internal dynamics of these organizations. Designers who dare to think big will not only be crafting the next innovative products and services, but also empowering others to do the same in ethical ways. As our roles evolve, we must also evolve our design approaches to suit the scale of our international brothers and sisters. The power of our thinking on the developing world is interesting—but the power of their thinking in a world of bigger problems, but greater opportunities is incredible.
“One of the truest tests of integrity is its blunt refusal to be compromised.”