Bright Lights, No City...Round 2

Leaning against the wall of the solar center, the bricks still damp having been formed two days before, I tried my hardest to slow down time.  Zayem! Fati exclaimed every time a green light transitioned from a sea of small red LED lights.  The green light indicated that the battery was fully charged and ready to be rented out for the first time to the eager Nomdu One villagers gathered just outside.  Dchen! Sowdatu chimed in when a second light stood out with a satisfying green color.  Inductively, I gathered that Zayem meant one and Dchen must mean two (although for a good 25 minutes I thought the words were used for color description).  I never learned the word for three in Dagbani, despite the fact that 3 batteries were required to power every household’s new Burro lanterns.  By the time a third charger light turned green, it was a scramble between the two women entrepreneurs to see who would gather two or all three fully charged batteries and complete the transaction.  Just as excited to be handing over the thirty Pesewas (the fixed price to rent three fully charged batteries), community members of all ages quickly huddled together to plant the batteries in the lanterns and unleash light into the village courtyard, each click and each lantern granting greater and greater illumination.  While Lauren and Khadija floated to troubleshoot battery placement and document the momentous occasion, I succeeded in losing track of time watching the lights turn from red to green, and witnessing “empowerment” in so many ways. 

            By now, readers will be familiar with our solar entrepreneurship project and will understand the thrill that was our opening night.  Months ago we were dreaming of this project, weeks ago we arrived in Ghana and first spoke to the village Chief, and only days ago we helped facilitate and witnessed the humbling construction of the community solar center.  A physical signature that indeed, this wasn’t a dream and shared aspirations between Lauren, Nomdu One community members, and myself had materialized.  With the construction of the center, our days in the village were numbered – we knew the transition of power from our vision to the reality of the women was imminent (sorry, I can't stay away from these electricity puns!). 

            That transition was opening night.  Having visited every household in the community (68 in total!), where each household had on average 10 people, we made sure to notify hundreds of village community members that on opening night they’d be able to charge their cell phones and bring their new lantern to rent batteries and illuminate their compounds.  For many households, this would be the first time they had non-kerosene light or light at all in their homes.

            The opening event itself featured a mix of beauty, excitement, and wholly underwhelming calmness.  While children jumped and clapped, grinning ear to ear, adults more successfully contained their excitement as they gathered.  The smiles, however, were omnipresent.  As family after family rented batteries and illuminated the space under the chief’s tree, however, I didn’t see what I had pictured the monumental opening night to be.  Overly fetishized in my head, I had imagined hundreds of Nomdu One villagers gathered surrounding the solar center with their lights. Maybe someone would bring their radio, or better yet, play the drums I’d carefully eyed sitting in the corner of compound huts.  Instead, a sea of quiet, calm, yet appreciative routine swept across the village once lanterns were lit.  Waving goodbye, families would return to their compounds to utilize the new hours of the day to cook while the blistering sun was absent.  An unintended consequence, children stayed up later and enjoyed their shadows and familiar company at an unfamiliar hour. When I fell back into time passing at a normal speed, it was clear that the nondescript routine that followed the community illumination was perhaps the most comforting phenomenon we could have hoped for Nomdu One.  Brushing off the inherent white savior framework I was all too cognizant of at many stages of this “international development” project, I breathed a tired sigh of relief realizing that really this project achieved its simple goal.  Far from life altering for many, the gift of community solar electricity meant more agency, more time, not saving.  Nomdu One residents previously had kerosene lamps or lead-acid battery powered flashlights, and instead we brought durable, waterproof, clean-energy lamps.  Healthier and cheaper, sure, but we didn’t bring the gift of light.  In terms of cell phones, almost every household had one (despite being miles from the grid) and had previously walked great distances to charge them.  Now, they would be able to drop it off in the center of town, say hi to friends on the way, and be supporting a local business on the way.  And for our women entrepreneurs, this business wasn’t a life altering abandonment from the agrarian lifestyle – in fact, our last day in the village we didn't say goodbye to Sowda because she had to tend to some emergency business in the farm.  Instead, for these women and for all the community members in the village of Nomdu One, this project set out to accomplish a simple and sustainable goal – to provide solar “power to empower” – and in doing so helped improve longitudinal health and unlock a myriad of opportunities with the extra time, light, and connection previously absent.

Moving forward at the speed of light

It’s all happened so fast. From half-joking idea to grant proposal to plane tickets; earth to bricks to building; ideas to lessons to business: this project has moved at an incredible pace. Despite setbacks and reroutes, months of thinking and planning and working are about to crystallize into something very real and very exciting. Today we look forward to opening night, the first opportunity for members of Nomdu One to visit the new solar center in the middle of their community. But before we celebrate too much, we have a bit of catching up to do.

Completed distribution and explanation of lanterns to all 57 compounds of Nomdu

In the past few days we have trained Fati and Sowda on operating the solar equipment and running the charging business, presented our project to all of Nomdu One at a community meeting, and distributed solar lanterns to each of the fifty-seven households in our community.  At the end of these long days, we’ve found ourselves much more interested in sleep than in attempting to coherently share what we’ve been up to. So let’s pick back up where we left off.

We arrived at Nomdu shortly after sunrise to greet the Chief and a handful of elders lounging beneath the emblematic big tree. This is the scene we’ve found most days upon our early arrival to the village. Slowly rising from a regal throne, a chair whose back was nearly horizontal, the chief told us to wait for the community to arrive and fill in the circle. Slowly, squirmy children, cackling older women, and even the ostracized Fulani brought life to the otherwise tranquil village center. The Chief made a nearly imperceptible hand gesture, which Khadijah immediately picked up on, and told us to begin.

It was not until I stood at the center of the impromptu amphitheater before me that I could fully conceptualize what fifty-seven households looks like. Over a hundred people gathered, representing the much greater population of Nomdu, to hear our presentation. Although we have gotten to know a handful of the community during construction, a sea of unfamiliar faces watched and waited to hear what a couple of Salamingas had to say for themselves. With the boost of confidence from our freshly tailored Ghanaian clothes, we began with hopes of winning over the community’s support.

Tragedy struck when Robert’s demonstration of lantern durability backfired. The batteries popped out the back of the “drop-proof” lantern as he skidded it across the stage. Oops…it must have not been closed all the way? We silently wondered. However, he quickly regained the community’s confidence by tossing an illuminated lantern into a murky bucket of dugout water, where it bobbed and remained afloat for the rest of our presentation. With the Chief and elders already on our side, convincing the rest of Nomdu was not the challenge we had anticipated. And when the group dispersed as quickly as it had coalesced, enthusiastic community members repeatedly prodded as to why they had to wait for the solar center’s opening. Whether due to the newly installed solar panels or the community’s widespread enthusiasm, there was an electricity in the air of Nomdu One.

Fati and Sowda stripping copper wire to ground the panels

The next few days were a whirlwind of panel installation, training, and lantern distribution. Fati and Sowda easily learned to wire the panels and gen set (admittedly quicker than I had a week before), displaying great confidence when they told village men to let them do their job. They are absolutely killing it, and I could not be more impressed. We can’t wait for them to shine at Opening Night!

Fati inside the Solar Center

Brick by Brick: Building Community

“It’s straight!” “No, no, I’m telling you it’s straight!” Although Khadijah was translating, we couldn’t understand why the loud volume and harsh tones could somehow amount to a consensus. In the U.S. a fierce argument like this would end in disappointment, frustration, and maybe a lawsuit. But in Ghana, the dramatic tenor of heated debate means something entirely different. ”So what’s the problem?” we asked Khadijah. “They are saying the same thing. It’s just that one is older and the other is younger.” It’s moments like these that our expertise is not needed, not wanted, and not helpful.  It is also moments like these that we realize that much of the time we have not idea what is really going on.  I’ll admit, it’s all too easy to over-romanticize a village lifestyle.  It’s easy to catch other Salamingas (white people) proclaiming, “They have so little, but they are SO happy!”  Many times, statements like that don’t make it past me without question and a stern and perplexed look.  But watching the until then hidden intergenerational power dynamics of the two masons was a much needed reminder of how narrowly assimilated I’ve become into this culture after many months over many years of living here.

Today marks day three of building the solar center.  We’d budgeted three days total for building, but by the time we left Namdu One this afternoon, the solar center couldn’t much withstand a rainstorm let alone produce electrical current.  Our first day of building featured some highs and lows boiling down to community mobilization and hard math.  We began by settling on a “central location in the community with plenty of sunlight that faced south.”  Within fifteen minutes of arriving, half a dozen men equipped with handmade shovels and hoes had cleared a strip of land east of the Chief’s palace and outlined a 6’x9’ rectangle. Twenty minutes after that, a steady stream of villagers coming from all directions with bricks in hand helped lay the first level of the foundation.  What about keeping the structure stuck together? Nomdu One men casually began to dig a hole twenty feet north of the structure, sprinkling in water and cement mixer into a thick mud to solve the problem.  Handful after handful of deep red earth bonding were slapped in between bricks until a moment when the work abruptly stopped.  No more bricks.  The structure was a grand 1 foot high, and we’d run out of bricks.  “No problem, no problem,” we were assured.  “Just come back tomorrow and we’ll have made enough bricks and already assembled it!”  As we gathered or things and washed off the cement and clay, another mason began hand-packing bricks in an all-too entrancing manner.  It was enough to get us excited for the 5:15am wake up the following morning.


The vignette about the two masons came on day two of building.  Upon arrival, Nomdu One had indeed laid four more feet of wall along all sides of the soon to be solar charging center.  We continued to mix the earth-concrete caulking and slap it in between the still moist bricks.  But only an hour after we arrived, we’d run out of bricks again, and were to return the next day.  Today, day three, the four walls were finished.  Next step, carpentry. Given that this is a trade totally out of our expertise, we picked up a carpenter from a nearby village along with wood, zinc roofing, nails, and other supplies required for a waterproof roof and overly sought after verandah.  The carpenter, an Ashanti region native, could have flipped a coin and just as easily been a circus performer.  Perched on the thin and still moist walls like a cat on a picket fence, the carpenter managed to saw, hammer, level, and assemble the roof skeleton all from the six inch or so tightrope of a wall.  He didn't get down for three hours.  While I’d like to say we helped, I’m not sure how much we actually accomplished.  I rushed over to the hanging two by fours whenever he was cutting the wood, only to arrive with the wood falling and slapping the ground with a “thanks for nothing” thud.  Nomdu One children and elders laughed at our frantic scrambles to help, only to be shooed away, or at most, tolerated.  By the end of the day, the roof had taken shape, and we had finalized plans to finish the roof and plaster the drying walls the next day.  

There’s a lot of beauty in feeling just so ignorant.  At times treading the line between burdensome and enduringly clueless, there’s something to be said for the recent college graduates – studded with honors, awards, grants and praise – who are unable to meaningfully build a mud-brick structure with a shaved wood roof.  It’s one of the reasons intercultural exchange is so rich and reciprocal; it’s another reason I love Ghana.  I’ll admit, in the hours of waiting here and there for supplies, I sometimes think about how I’ll convey my experiences, work, and research in this place few friends know anything about.  While I’ll save the long list of lessons learned for a post trip conversation with you, know this: I won’t include how I became an expert carpenter or mason.  Or even tell you if indeed, that straight line is straight.

Chairmen, Chickens, and Chiefs

Is it the man in the green shirt? Close, but no. He’s an elder. Does he have a beard? Yes, but a longer beard. Ok, so he will definitely be wearing a hat. Is it the man in the red beanie? No, that’s the Chairman. From the moment we pulled into the village of Namdu One, our real-life game of “Guess Who” began. Although we share fond memories of playing the Hasbro classic, today the stakes were raised. We were sure that every older and regal-looking man that we met was certainly the Chief of Namdu One. But when we subtly looked to Khadijah for confirmation, she laughed and shook her head.

There was a lot riding on today. Our objective was to pitch our project, which would fundamentally alter daily life in Namdu One. We had planned to spend the morning familiarizing ourselves with the community and surveying how household met their energy needs. But community members enthusiastically shepherded us to the second chief’s palace immediately after we stepped out of the car. “No, they are not the Chief,” Khadijah softly giggled.

“Gaffara” we announced before slipping off our Choco sandals and ducking our heads beneath the open entry. Two older men gracefully slid out a hand-woven reed mat for us to sit on, and began to engage us in what can only be described as village small talk. And as we patiently waited between translations, we couldn’t help but get lost in the beautiful and unfamiliar oddities that surrounded us. Directly overhead hung mobiles of maize: delicately woven heads of corn suspended like chandeliers. The end of a tree fiber rope was looped around the big toe of the second chief. We watched with fascination as he twisted and braided the cord, working to add to his collection of bolts that dangled from the straw roof above us. Although we could have spent hours committing this room to memory, the elders quickly led us to the Chief’s palace for our impromptu meeting.

As progressively older and wiser men entered the narrow door, we waited with anticipation and a touch of apprehension. Silently, we continued our game of “Guess Who”, knowing that a well-rehearsed delivery lay just a few moments ahead. Amid the chatter, an older man entered, brushed off some hanging animal skins, and sat apart from the group that had amassed before us. This was our Chief. After ceremoniously biting and passing around a kola nut, I swallowed the surprisingly bitter sacrament and began the presentation.

Despite the serious tone of this meeting, there was nothing like the clown-car-like effect of more and more men filing into the small dome-shaped building to calm my nerves. Chickens snuck in and out, children peered in from outside, and the community received us warmly. This was not the challenge we had anticipated. Within the first ten minutes of our meeting, the Chief had accepted our project proposal, and was prepared to begin construction. Woo!

For me, making a big decision is often a drawn-out process of pro and con lists, comparative research, and exhaustive personal reflection. I appreciated the Chief’s decisiveness. I cannot say whether it was the project that spoke for itself, a cultural difference, or an individual personality trait that made the Chief’s decision such an easy one. In any case, this was the first big accomplishment of our project. Tomorrow we will meet our partners, the village-selected women entrepreneurs, and we plan to break ground on the solar center in a couple of days.

A bright spot in the rain

The inevitable happened just as predicted, although the weak whine was unexpected.  As voluminous raindrops quickly turned the deep red earth an even darker shade, we scrambled to shield our newly assembled solar equipment.  An afternoon that was supposed to be spent testing our equipment was instead spent testing our reflexes.  With wires tangling feet and the fifty-pound battery protruding like a potbelly out of the lime-green inverter box, we barely avoided short-circuiting the equipment.  A mad minute, the faint whine of the inverter signaling the error “insufficient sunlight” injected a degree of dry humor into the commotion.  I caught the eye of our translator, Khadijah, who cracked a narrow smile and nonverbally communicated the fact that she new the rain was coming.   “Saa,” she said pointing out to the increasingly powerful rainfall.  Although I had been using the word in a collegially Ghanaian way to exclaim disappointment, Khadijah taught me not ten minutes before that it also meant “rain” in Dagbani.  From stripping thick wires with her teeth to tactfully placing double entendre for the observant, Khadijah continues to impress us.

Our Equipment, Minutes Before The Rain

We’ve spent the past couple of days learning from the success of others. Traveling to three villages outside of Tamale, we visited water purification and solar charging businesses that have been implemented by Saha in the past few years. Yes, projects just like the one we are doing already exist. We are not reinventing the wheel here. In order to ensure the long-term sustainability of our project, we aren’t taking any structural risks. Saha has supported the opening of over 70 water and 8 solar businesses in total and has a 100% rate of success. We like those odds.

Tomorrow is a big day.  The kind of day that you prepare for by probing the annals of the market for Kola nuts – a local stimulant with ceremonious connotations.  Tomorrow is the first day we travel to our implementation site: the village Nomdu One.  We wish we could tell you what to expect – the characters at play, the scenery, exactly how impossible it would be to drink in the car measured by the bumpiness of the road.  But it’s all a mystery that tomorrow we will begin to illuminate (sorry…there are going to be a lot of solar puns going forward). Wish Lauren luck tomorrow.  She will be leading our chief meeting that will outline our solar business proposal and seek his approval.