Thursday, April 14, 2011

Why you'll never see me on a "People" magazine cover...

I know I've touched on this in previous blog posts, but I've been thinking a lot about concepts of "privacy" lately and thought it might make for an interesting post...

The other day one of my fellow volunteers came to visit me, and we were talking about the fact that we feel like we understand the lives of celebrities a little better since moving to this continent. My friend told me about the lack of privacy at his site being exacerbated by the fact that he lives inside of a compound with several nurses who are always acutely aware of where he's going, what he's doing, and how late he sleeps in ("you've finally woken up!"). Because I don't live inside of a compound, I don't quite face the same scrutiny that he does from his housemates, but I still understand the feeling that accompanies it. For instance, even though I live on the outside of a cement compound, the latrine that I use is located inside the compound, where several Ghanaians live. These are mostly men who work for ITFC, and I get along great with these guys. They've helped me on numerous occasions, chasing bats out of my house late at night, finding my lost cat, and just being there with a smile and good conversation. But at the same time, it is rare that I enter the compound and don't see at least a couple of them, which makes trips to the bathroom quite a public affair. This was particularly troublesome at the beginning of my service, when I first got to my site. I was still getting used to local food and my body was adjusting to a new place, and let's just say I got to know my latrine pretty well in those first few months. And nearly ever time that I entered the compound, particularly if I did it multiple times in a day, my housemates would get very concerned. "Madam," they would say, "It seems as though your stomach is running. You must be feeling sick since you are coming here plenty." In other words, even the condition of my stomach (not something we Americans are used to freely sharing about) was a topic of general interest and concern.

Now, those are just a few examples of the type of public display that we and our bodies face quite often. In many ways, I have simply accepted the fact that I, being a white foreigner, am a rarity in this area. The daily life of villagers can get a little old (as it occasionally does, I suppose, for every other type of person everywhere on the planet), so having a person around who hilariously butchers your language, looks very different than all of your friends and family, and has the ability to send your children screaming and running into the bush at the mere sight of her makes for great conversation around town. I have become used to a new "normal," which is one that includes greeting every person I pass and answering any questions they might (and usually do) ask, such as "where are you going?" "where are you coming from?" and "what are you doing?" It also includes being the center of a lot of conversations, whether or not I realize that I am. I've heard my name mentioned in countless rapid exchanges in Dagbani, and people always seem to want to chat about my language abilities (or, more accurately, my lack thereof). Never before in my life have I felt so many eyes on me at once, especially when we have festivals, celebrations, and "jams." Since drummng and dancing is such an important part of this culture, I often find myself on the outskirts of a massive circle of people with a makeshift dance floor in the middle and my friends pushing me into the center to dance. I always oblige (these things just don't embarrass me much anymore...), to the delight of the crowd. Yelling, cheering, and laughing always ensue, which encourages me to further make a fool out of myself :)

Probably the most significant change in my life as far as privacy is concerned is the lack of privacy when I am in my home. Sure, I live alone, and I do have frosted windows that, when closed, make it difficult to snoop, but there are almost always children around who are greeting me, asking me for things, or just trying to get a peek inside at the siliminga. Some days this can be very precious, like when I hear the little 2 and 3 year olds squeaking out "Madam Kate! Madame Kate!" Sometimes, it's fun to have a big group of kids run over to my place and just want to spend time with me, whether it's coloring or playing frisbee or doing relay races (they looove the wheelbarrow). There are many times when I certainly don't mind giving up a little bit of privacy to play with the kids and cuddle with the babies. Other times, however, the children can be relentless. When I am cooking, eating, sleeping, reading, working... you name the activity and the time of day, and there are probably some children around peeping into my windows and calling my name. They seem to know when I've had a particularly trying day, and just can't resist the urge to yell a little louder and nag me a little more than usual (but then again, maybe my ears are just a little more sensitive on those days...). Those are the moments when I wish I could just lock myself in a sound-proof room for an hour, but that would be nearly impossible to do here, obviously. (come to think of it, learning to deal with this aspect of my life is, I suppose, is good prep for the future if I plan on having kids of my own someday...)

Anyway, as the title of this post suggests, I have something of a new appreciation for the lives of "celebrities." Sure, they make enough money to hire full-time security and the lack of privacy is what most people think of as an occupational hazard, but I'm now far less likely to roll my eyes when they complain about the constant "airing out" of their dirty laundry. Sometimes it's hard to put on a smile when you've got a fever of 102 degrees. You don't always want to greet every person you pass, and sometimes you just want to bust a move on the dancefloor without one hundred pairs of eyes staring at you. But even though it's hard, I wouldn't give up my lack of privacy for all the rewards I gain. Sure, those little kids are screaming out my name for a mile as I walk down the road, but they're just so darn cute when they do it, I always arrive at my destination with a smile on my face...