Holy shit I just looked around me and noticed that
there were 4 females in the room. Just to think that for a good few weeks I was
the only one, the gangbitch with my 3 burly gentlemen. This is balanced.
Everyone’s scratching,
mosquito bites all round, toes and ankles, noses. The occasional clap of
someone aiming for the little bugger. The hum of the fans. The faint odour of
the evenings pungent meal of Ochra Stew and Banku, no-ones favourite-lingers in
the air.
My Canadian housemate;
a bundle of fun whom, ironiocally along with my other favourite homo; inspired
me to go out independently into the world of Ghana; to have my own adventures and fly;
has just left Ghana. As he flies across the seas, towards Quibec, Canada;
thousands of Liberians in Ghana are crying, packing their bags, defeated,
again. Due to the Cessation Clause of the 30thJuly 2012, when their
refugee status in Ghana ceased to be, those who remain do so without rights,
without protection, and without a home; as Buduburam, “Liberia Camp” the
massive, thriving amorphous of Liberian haven that has been home to the
refugees for many years is being closed down. Thousands have applied for
exemption; for a chance to say ‘hear my story again, I AM a refugee, I AM in
need of international protection, ‘my country’ CANNOT give me the protection
that a nation owes to its citizens and I am here, in Ghana, without a home.
In Two weeks I will
smoothly navigate my way through the airport bureaucracy and return home too.
All these weeks I have been waiting for that shot of urgency to kick in, for
the adrenalin to pump away the lethargy. I think I’m slowly becoming addicted
to the feeling of leaving; the cravings, the need- to do everything under the
sun, the fear, the anticipation.
On Wednesday, the 4th
July, 4 days after the passing of the cessation clause, I (along with a
fantastic 16 year old who was doing research for her fancy IB High school
curriculum!) was given the opportunity
to take the other interns of the Human Rights office I’ve been volunteering at
to Buduburam ‘Liberia’ Refugee Camp. After struggling to put together a request
for permission to visit the site, organising (with much help) a vehicle (a
tro-tro) to take the 15 interns, copies
of the surveys and interviews. Trying to
make up a reason to tell the other interns about why we’re going there “due to
the cessation clause, after which Refugee Status for all the Liberians living
there will be terminated, we {at our human rights organisation} are expecting
to get a great influx of refugee clients and we need to do research at the camp
in order to find out what sort of problems are likely to come up in order to be
adequately prepared” where-as infact, the reason we were going was out of our
own interest, too see the place, to understand, and- most importantly I rate,
to talk to the peeps in order to get things from their perspective, because
most of what everyone hears about nationless peoples, is gossip from the
nations.
Angel, my Liberian
woman (with a accent typical of Rastafarians?) whom I interviewed came to Ghana
when she was 4, brought by her aging grandmother to escape the civil war. She’s
been living in the camp ever since. She has 2 kids (the youngest, on her back
during the interview). She picks up littered water sachets for a living and has
never received any sort of education. She, along with the other Liberians
cannot go and work in Accra because they feel threatened as Liberians. ‘Its no
good here (Ghana), its no good there (Liberia)’. She wants ‘to fly’, to move to a mythical land
{which starts with A and rhymes with ‘freethinker’ or ‘swastika’)
Which doesnt surprise me; given what people see on TV. Its almost like Cold War West Germany here off the side of Africa...
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