They say that to really understand and connect with a person, you have to walk in their shoes. Yes, I know that's an age-old cliche, but (as Randy Pausch would say) they've stuck around in our culture for a reason. In our case, we not only walked in their shoes but we lived in their houses, we played with their kids, we ate their food, and we even bathed in their showers. Such is the power of the home-stay. Even though I studied abroad in college, first of all it was in a Western, English-speaking country and I didn't stay with a family from that culture. Now I understand why they're so important. There is no better way to get this kind of insight into the lives of someone from another culture than to live in their house and be a part of their family.
Dave and I stayed in the home of what seemed to be one of the more wealthy families in the Habitat community. It was more of a family compound that simply a house. The main house had been there for a while, which is where the grandmother and grandfather lived. I could hear their TV blaring at night which was a good indication of their relative wealth. The so-called "utility block" was usually unattached from the main house, which consisted of a toilet, a shower, and another room which usually contained some sort of kitchen or water storage room. Their utility block had 4 rooms and a tiled shower. There was an additional building behind the main house which I can only assume was added on later. It had one main living room/dining room with couches and a table. Off of that main room were 2 rooms with beds and two other rooms used for various purposes. Dave and I each got a room to ourselves. The additional house even had a porch where we would usually lounge after our showers at the end of a long work day either reading or watching the rain pour down just feet away (something I haven't been able to do in over a year). With the elder generation was living their daughter, who had a daughter of her own (age 11) and a baby boy no more than 6 months old.
The family spoke very little English, but we managed to communicate via a combination of "sign-language" and translation with the help of other community members. She would say a few things to me or Dave in Akan (the regional language most widely spoken), we would say a few things back in English. Smiles and laughter were always the best form of communication. In fact, I think I could best communicate with the 6-month-old because we didn't have language as the barrier. I would smile at him, make a face, give him a finger to hold and he would give me this big half-toothy grin and let out a little baby squeal (you know the ones when infants want to say something but just don't have the lexicon for it yet). That's not giving enough credit to the 11 year old daughter because she actually spoke quite good English, but she was so shy I didn't realize she could speak until the end of the week! The grandfather also had a good grasp of English, he just wasn't around as often - just often enough in the mornings to wish us health for the long day of work ahead of us. The grandmother was supportive in her own way as well. She came to the different cultural events in the evenings. She came to the closing ceremony. She was even at the church service we went to on Sunday (its possible she also just happened to belong to that church). There's something about the recognition of shared values that communicates more than you can ever tell someone.
Every evening after coming back from the work site I would be greeted by an enthusiastic "Iyeko!" from the grandmother. Only on the last day of work did I realize this was an encouragement meaning "job well done" that merited a response of "Iye!". When I finally answered her with an "Iye!", we both laughed in mutual appreciation.
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