A Kid from a Candy Store

I wrote this in 2013 after living in Ghana for a while. Now that I have returned to Ghana, it feels like I never left in a strange way. It is refreshing to revisit this first impression.

“On my own, with a one way ticket. I ended up the stray broke white boy artist who found his way to Africa.

Why did I go to Ghana? Because I could. Through connections in my hometown, it was brought to my attention that a man was establishing an Arts program in that country. That was my draw, to contribute to the start of an international program and be able to explore creative arts in a foreign country. It just so happens it was in Ghana. And considering I was in desperate need of a change of scenery to clear my head after what proved to be a mentally exhausting personal struggle over the past year, Africa came a-calling and I came a-running. Plus, based on my current financial standing (practically nonexistent), Africa was more sensible then, say, running off and moving to Europe. Instead of “Eat, Pray, Love,” my experience leaned towards “Chop, Sweat, Wait.”

As an actor/artist, navigating the country felt like a performance art piece due to the absurdity of my indirect social isolation when I first arrived.

My time in Ghana can hardly be called conventional or practical. I had a sense prior to my landing, that I must have some form of temporary plan B, as a lack of communication between program board members left me feeling uneasy. Arriving in a different country for the first time alone, only to discover there was no funding or infrastructure to help me acclimate to basic customs and daily activities, presented itself to immediate limitations. My primary objective in Ghana was to work with and explore the creative arts with children, while surveying program needs. I saw this as an opportunity to both coordinate and learn from the traditions and talents of the residents, whether children or adult.

After day one, I soon realized I would need all the way up to a plan Z in order for anything to run smoothly during my time there. Because as the saying goes . . . . “T.I.A.” – “This is Africa.” The catch-all phrase when things don’t proceed as expected. You can only imagine how often I heard that during my first few weeks as I learned my way around. Enduring the day-to-day movement and bureaucratic mumbo jumbo is exhausting on its own, more or less coordinating or aiding some form of structural progress. Often left waiting. Waiting, a common occurrence, as time feels more like a generalized idea rather than a structural guideline, aka Ghana Maybe Time. I struggled to accept this idea of “that’s the way it is.” A culture that I found uncomfortably agreeable at times due to the frequency of hearing “it is possible” or “it will come,” and “small wait.” I respect optimism, but only when there is a glass to be filled in the first place. If there ever was a time for me to practice patience, this was it.

The first couple of weeks I can only describe as the opening scene from Beauty and the Beast, when Belle is strolling through the streets, while constantly greeted and scrutinized. Now replace Belle with a goofy American white boy holding a note pad, and

everyone else with some Ghanaians. And replace “Bonjour” with “Hey, White Man.” My iPod offering the musical accompaniment, and there you have it. Everyone was coming out to say hi as I passed, while clearly scanning me over and discussing. Non- threatening, but misleading. Although, I understood, a white boy living alone in an African slum does present itself to honest curiosity.

Left to my own devices, I sought any outlet that might offer a bit of guidance as this initial novelty wore off. Thankfully, I befriended some international faculty members at the local university who provided me countless contacts to various “help the children”- oriented NGOs. This new exploration led to a better understanding of how local and international programs function in this supposed illusive continent that is Africa.

The more I devoured this environment I was reminded of Febreze commercials. The ones where people are led blindfolded into a dirty room yet believe they are in a spring meadow of sorts. The reality is they are just in a dirty room that smells better. Many of the volunteers I encountered were positioned as this appealing air freshener. They came, they saw, they took their photo ops, and made in most instances that moment in time a bit fresher. However, it does not change the fact that it is still a “dirty room.” And those photo ops the blindfold. I witnessed this reliance on inevitably temporary solutions rather than the collaborative effort of cleaning up the programs. In the moment it appears nice, but ultimately temporary if the infrastructure cannot for various reasons establish sustainable goals.

At first I was discouraged by NGOs that work with disadvantaged youth. After discussing with various groups, there was a distinct separation between financial gain versus manpower, implying a reliance on the “voluntourism” market, as opposed to the “genuine” volunteer. Even the best intentions, without having structure in a new environment, I watched suffer. Volunteering and collaborative efforts functioned dramatically differently from my preconceived notions. Volunteering programs as an industry, an incredibly large sector of society, were rarely formed based on a labor of love. Profit margins and income take precedence over structural change and education.

On the surface it is easy to judge these programs, which promote goodwill. However, they are in fact, at the end of the day, a business. Typically, it was neither the fault of the volunteer, nor the program itself. These programs are providing jobs, often under false pretense. College students and other volunteer organizations that want to leave an impression drive the dedication and passion. It is a smart business model to some extent, but temporary. Capitalize on international tourists and trendy “voluntoursim” programs and the desire to appease their self-gratifying needs (to which I’ll admit to falling victim on occasion). Moreover, as a white volunteer you can pride yourself on feeling like a novelty, while even eating can lead locals to uproarious amounts of laughter. The children are positive and excited by the gadgets and the goofiness of the “obruni” (foreigner, implying white) attempting the local dance or helping prepare a local dish. It is fun and playful in the moment, but the children developed an assembly line mentality, as I watched foreigner after foreigner roll in to share a moment, as they gear up to greet with open arms. Thus, no, it is in fact not always about the children . . . .

Even recognizing this situation, my frustration mounted as I struggled with the complete lack of follow-through. It was not until I began chatting with volunteers from all around the world that I began to acknowledge my doubts and concerns. This was a consistent sentiment shared by many of the frustrated volunteers: “I don’t understand why they just don’t listen. Can’t they see I’m trying to make their lives better, and help them? They don’t even care.” A moment of realization! That is the problem. Imposing is a far cry from guidance. Imposing discredits the good intentions, suggesting a “you can’t . . . (so we will just do it for you)” rather than a “you could” mentality. That is the value of international collaboration, pulling from each other’s strengths. And constantly victimizing Africa as a showpiece for humanitarianism is unfair to those who have actively taken responsibility for their own lives in the country and worked to achieve a comfortable life out of poverty. That is possible even in Africa, but sometimes an uphill battle.

Many of those volunteers came with these lofty expectations, revved up to “save” these poor children’s lives, and were outraged that what they were saying was not immediately implemented as the right way. All the while, sharing countless photos of the smiling children and how they have been deeply touched. While others understood there was little they could tangibly do and smiled to make the most out of some rinky-dink bicycle operation they signed up for. The majority of the volunteers I encountered fell into those two categories, staying in Ghana from 4 months to upward 2 years. Not some week trip getaway to the birthplace for life enrichment.

I fluctuated between these various outlooks, primarily because I ended up not having a functional program with which to connect--At times, desperate to find my place among the insular rhythms of international volunteers and locals alike. Throughout this tangential progression of observation, I was left feeling like I was wandering around this overproduced facsimile of current western culture. Let’s bring on the bling before the substance--material items (cars, new technology, designer shoes, etc.) before consistent electricity, water, education and health care. Priorities. That was peculiar, watching the development of another mall in the city when electricity frequently would go out. Those fortunate enough to have generators were sheltered from the major disruption of the power outages. Even accessibility to running water was erratic. The fact the country is in the position to build malls and clubs is commendable but potentially premature.

These infrastructural concerns were acknowledged, sometimes with kooky billboards, but then dissipated into thin air. This behavior reduced the internal accountability of many of the programs I directly encountered. Ranging from little to no communication, lack of instruction, consistency and/or physical presence. Sometimes I was left to fend for myself in a room of students after a teacher would wander off or take a nap. Goodbye collaboration. Still this does not justify imposing values. Taking into consideration the history of the country, these behaviors connect. When constantly unsure of what tomorrow will bring, prosperous offering in the future seems a bleak consolation when surviving day-by-day. Thus, stealing $5 dollars from your work today outweighs the possibility of a $20 payday at the end of the week. That is a fundamental issue I initially

criticized, but soon processed as a justifiable reality. Even the business of volunteering and international support, suggesting altruism, has built-in irregularity. Funding fluctuates; people come and go short periods of time, sometimes give and sometimes take. Whether that is right or wrong, or appropriate is another debate. Volunteering is a wonderful beneficial practice and a luxury. Volunteering only has as much benefit as the support received from the group or program they are assisting, especially in a new environment.

The achievements Ghana has made in the short amount of time since independence in 1957 is admirable. Money and volunteers are pumped into the country, now Ghana has more recently been viewed as the popular choice for African outreach due to its political stability and peace. Peace can only go so far without reliability and action. And on the rare occasion I experienced moments that bore even the slightest resemblance to my American comforts, I asked myself what defines progress, and who is the progress and change benefiting? The speed of development in conjunction with a strong international influence and a lack of government support marginalize the natives, which jeopardizes national self-sustaining improvements when accompanied by a lack of education.

Volunteers may have set their hopes high, but it is a crapshoot if they will receive the altruistic benefits of their own choosing. And as I grappled with cultural differences, development, and human rights, I realized it is not a matter of imposing change, but to strive for a collaborative change, which must start internally. Stripping myself of pretense and expectation, admittedly not always successfully, and allowing myself to go on this journey, I was able to just live and enjoy.

Wanting an escape from reality, I realized quickly it was not an escape I craved. It was a desire to just live outside of my head. And the disillusionment of a program that led me to this country, I can now be thankful for that turn of events as it opened up many more possibilities outside of just another white volunteer in Africa.

Now available online at all major books sellers, including Amazon and Barnes & Noble.  New Children’s Fairy Tale featuring a Transgender Princess, “The Royal Heart” 

http://www.amazon.com/Royal-Heart-Greg-McGoon/dp/1612862756/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1446931277&sr=8-1&keywords=greg+mcgoon

My thoughts on Kermit and Miss Piggy, well, love in general. 

We watch the disintegration of love in our own lives,friends and family, and public figures - sometimes devastating, sometimes premature, sometimes ill conceived.

Kermit and Miss Piggy a beloved odd ball pairing that has crossed generations. So I wonder what is the need to create a split for fictional couple after this many years. A publicity stunt for the upcoming Muppet Show? Sure, but is society that starved for drama, that we need to bask in the separation of puppets...is love no longer love unless it's a public spectacle of demise (given the influx of media covered splits: Tis the season of separation. 

Nowadays, the verb "to love" feels like a passive memory than an actual action. Let's not crush fictional characters, whether to prove a point or not, when we have enough in out daily routine to do that for us.

It appears the general consensus: relationships are work, tough or not. Do we need to create more to squash the concept of enduring love from children's characters to stress that point.

This coming from the boy whose mantra for a while was, “I fall in love, but land in a headache.”

Let's accept love's challenges as part of a truth, not an escape route. Love can be magical, and within that magic there is hope. Not hope for a fairytale, but hope within that sigh of relief towards mutual acceptance and inspiration. Maybe this is idealistic, but I grab on to those moments when I can, because my cynicism typically runs strong.

I'd like to maybe read more stories of couples who overcame, continuously work through the hurdles, attempt to communicate and acknowledge the initial spark that led them to declare the pairing, to balance the heartbreak.

Miss Piggy and Kermit will most like reunite. There is an entire new show to fill, in which they discover they are meant for each other after countless dating disasters. But that's idealistic as well--the public split only to lead to a grand reunion. The alternative fairytale, as told by puppets. 

Dachshund Love

Women have played a prominent role all of my life thus far. I am grateful for that. It is baffling and disheartening knowing that a woman’s abilities continue to be called in question. But alas, it is a situation that is happening, and one that is gravely misunderstood.

Maybe naivete—or should I say lack of ignorance— inhibited my judgement to question the capabilities of women. However, from where I stand, I’ve only known women to be strong, focused, intelligent leaders and achievers.

Any assumption (in general) that would claim a woman’s perception makes her less than a man is absurd. Not all men have identical strengths. That does not make any of them less of a man (if that is how they identify themselves). Not all woman have identical strengths. That does not make any of them less of a woman (if that is how they identify themselves).

Why then blanket woman under this cold shroud of gender dissonance? Strength and skills, talents and overall ability to live is a spectrum. A spectrum made of people. Societies created these illusory lines placing the woman on a lower end of the spectrum, Possibly by the males’ fear of emasculation. A man emasculates himself when he attacks a woman in any capacity.  Congratulations to them for succumbing to their own fear.

New Work 

About a Girl: Aubrey

New Work

New Promo photos I took for the "The Dessertist"

Burning Man 2014 - Caravansary 

Oliver

Desert Dog

Mixed Media