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Chocolate Nations: Living and Dying For Cocoa in West Africa

Orla Ryan explores the complex and oftentimes misunderstood cocoa industry in her book “Chocolate Nations: Living and Dying For Cocoa in West Africa”. Her main focuses are Ghana and Cote D’Ivoire, two major contributors (and competitors) in the cocoa bean industry. She explores how although the two countries have basically the same cash crop: cocoa beans, each country is incredibly different from the other, in its conditions for its farmers, the tension between farmers and government, and the way each government handles issues like taxation on beans, and issues with the World Bank.

Cote D’Ivoire was at one time referred to as the “miracle state” of Africa, Ryan writes. Under the excellent leadership of Felix Houphouet Boigny well into the 90s, their cocoa bean industry flourished, farmers were paid properly, and immigrants were encouraged to come from Burkina Faso to help grow the economy. For a long time, people prospered. Orla Ryan tells of a Cote D’Ivoire that was, in its way, a reincarnation of France, with fresh lobster dishes, heavy sauces, and French-styled buildings. In many ways, Cote D’Ivoire was a country to look to for hope of success in a post-colonial time. However, when Boigny passed, a number of different leaders came in, and the world cocoa prices began to drop, leaving many cocoa farmers, previously well-paid, to make much less. Questions of Ivorite (what Ryan refers to as the essence of being an Ivorian) came to light, and began to accuse immigrants who had been in the country for generations of not being true citizens of Cote D’Ivoire.
Ghana, alternately, has progressed a great deal in the last decade, as cocoa bean payments to farmers continue to rise, in part thanks to the World Bank encouraging that farmers begin to be paid their fare share. Although there is still not enough being paid to these workers, there is improvement, and forseeable improvement.

Additionally, Ryan explores the validity of Fair Trade, and how much it actually helps the farmers. Although many have said theyhave profitted a great deal from Fair Trade, and so have their villages thanks to well projects and the like, some research states that Fair Trade does not pay that much more than the average price, depending on what the world price is at the time, and that many farmers do not sell exclusively to Fair Trade buyers. The reasoning is, that most farmers will sell to whoever has ready cash, and Fair Trade indutries are not always able to provide cash immediately, which is not the best for the farmer. Ryan argues that it is not necessarily about buying or not buying Fair Trade, or any other form of chocolate, but about doing one’s research and not allowing oneself to be drawn in by marketing.

What is excellent about this book, is defined in Orla Ryan’s style. It does not read as if it is a textbook, spouting out facts about Ghana and Cote D’Ivoire, and quoting statistics with no explanation as to what those statistics really mean. She actively writes as though she is writing a novel. She is telling the cocoa industry’s story, as though it is a person, and because of this style she writes in, the reader is able to emerse themselves in the world she’s written, and is able to truly absorb the information that is given to them.

Even surrounding the topic of child labour, a heated topic for most people, Ryan remains neutral in her arguments of both sides. It is easy for a reported to get caught up in a story that involves children. In this case, the situation is less black and white, and more of a gray area. Child labour in Ghana is defined differently, in that the child is allowed to work, so long as it not interfere with school. Family work is different from child labour, because it refers to family farms where everyone pitches in. This is how a family earns its livelihood and is common even on ranches in the USA and Canada. In this case, so long as the child has the opportunity to go to school, it is allowed. However, this is not always the case. Some children do spend their childhood on the farm, and not in school, but the percentages of children who work on cocoa farms who also go to school are actually incredibly high. There is a large participation rate, and so the argument of “child labour” affecting children’s studies can actually be incredibly skewed on the subject. Ryan gives a good case as to why the topic is gray and brings a new perspective to what may or may not be unfair child labour.

Ryan also does not encourage blind research. She does not hide from information that might deflect what she is arguing, but prefers to show all sides of the story. As she is a journalist, it is hard to imagine an unbiased piece: oftentimes a journalist will tell the story from an angle with an intended message, but Orla Ryan simply wishes the reader to be well-informed all around. She will write one chapter detailing the positive outcomes of Fair Trade, and the next present a number of reasons why Fair Trade does not work. Although her opinion shines through her writing at times, in most cases, her intended message is undetectable. She simply wants the reader to have the facts, and draw their own conclusions. It is both refreshing, and possibly intimidating to some.

In addition to talking about the cocoa industry, Ryan also talks to real people, as a journalist is apt to do. She sets them up as characters that the reader gets to know, grows to care about, and suddenly their story is a story that the reader holds close to their heart. Guy Andre and Thomas are two particular stories that stand out: both are victims of the cocoa industry. Thomas is the unknown victim of immigrant discrimination: losing his father to an act of violence against him, just because someone questioned his “Ivorite.” Thomas and his family have been in Cote D’Ivoire for generations, but when it comes to paperwork, that does not matter. Guy Andre, is the opposite: a household name, a warning to those who go around asking questions about cocoa money. The man disappeared and only traces of him here and there were found. No one knows what happened to him, just that he asked too many questions. These are stories that question the intentions of those in charge of the cocoa industry: those that say they are doing what is best for the country, and yet people are harmed, and many farmers are not paid properly.

What it comes down to, or at least what can be derived from Orla Ryan’s writing, is that the problem of poor working conditions for cocoa farmers in Western Africa cannot be improved until the global price for chocolate goes up, and not from change in supply, but when people are willing to pay more for chocolate all together so that cocoa farmers may be paid more. Chocolate companies would need to make smaller profit margins. For millions of people, cocoa is their livelihood, and they are not paid enough for their hard work. Chocolate should not cost as little as it does in the Western world, not by a long shot. It’s not a question of child labour vs adult labour, or Fair Trade or not, but a question of our willingness to spend more so that more people can live an easier life. As Orla Ryan says in her epilogue, the best thing we can do is do our research and make informed choices with our purchases, rather than follow the marketing trail that leads us to Fair Trade or ethical brands, because what seems ethical at first, may be doing harm in its own way.

Reflective Essay

I’ve been home for three weeks now, and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about my time in Ghana – be it while I take a shower that lasts longer than a few minutes and begin to think about how much water I’m using, or when I receive a pay cheque and think about how far it would go in Ghana.

I went to Ghana, I think with a different perspective than most. I thought “Okay, so Ghana is not as disadvantaged as people make it seem. The media paints that picture of poverty, people are living absolutely fine lives. Their fine.” And they are fine. Most of the women are better dressed than most of the women I know on a daily basis, and everyone is happy and welcoming. But there is poverty, and disadvantage, and a lot more than I had convinced myself there was. That made it difficult, because while everyone else was realising that people are a lot better off than we think they are, I was re-realizing that there’s still a lot that could be done. Not to say it’s up to us to do those things, because change takes years, not weeks and months.

The culture shock was big, I was constantly learning new things about how this or that is done in Ghana: how to eat, how to speak, how to work, what time to arrive at, and absolutely every minute was a learning experience. If I thought I had nailed down one aspect of culture, there was another part staring me in the face. How to behave as a woman was a big one. I wear shorts in Vancouver, because in the Western world, legs are not as big a deal to cover, as a woman’s upper half. In Ghana, it is the exact opposite, and people, children especially, had no issue telling you when your “knickers were too short.” There is both a lot more and a lot less expected from women in Ghana. They are superwomen, looking after kids, the home, oftentimes the family business, and even attending school at times. But they are considered the lesser sex in many ways, and the man runs the house.

Schools are where you see the real disadvantage. There’s a lack in school supplies and school amenities that should not be in short supply, and it’s sad that children, the country’s future, do not have access to the same things that children in other parts of the world do.

But, as it’s been said, I must look at the good, bad and ugly, and it’s time to focus on the good.

I have never felt so welcomed and a part of a community in my life. Despite my and my colleagues constantly standing out, everyone wanted to know us, and be a part of our lives, and they lectured us constantly about learning Fanti, but they did it out of caring. They work so hard, and care about the quality of their products. The people of Ghana, despite in many cases having little, give so much. In Komoano, the people gave and gave, and when we were stuffed to the brim, they gave some more. It was inconceivable. As if we were a part of their families.

To be honest, three weeks was not enough time to get to know Ghana, and to understand the people and the way of life there. We were scholars, but we were also tourists. We had to get everything in before we left, which did not leave a lot of time to stop and smell the roses, as it were. We didn’t get to slow down our pace and really explore where we were, but we did get to spend an amazing time in an amazing country, and get an introduction and a small understanding of the people and country.

Home

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So, I’m home. I was really sick for a while. Thought the plane ride would be hell, but somehow the sickness went away just in time to board the plane, and sleep the whole way to Accra. London was… very weird comparably. The price adjustment from cedis to euros is harrowing. I spent more in a day there than a week in Ghana. Definitely a terrifying notion. Returning home was nice. The weather was temperate. It’s been an interesting journey.

Reflections to come.

DAY 21 – July 21st

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It’s our last day in Cape Coast, and I went to say good bye to the little girl who lives up the road from us. I see her every day. She’s the one that points at her nose and ears when I see her.

I went with stickers, because I thought she would like them. She did to begin with, until she heard our friend, who works for her mother, say in Fanti “It’s her last day.” The little girl then dropped the stickers, and ran off upset. Finally, she came back (with prompting from her mother) and stared at me angrily for a while, then finally gave me a good bye hug.

Hardest good bye I’ve ever said, and definitely made me feel like a jerk. Here I am, preaching about how I’m not sure it’s right to bond with a kid when you’re not staying long, and I’ve gone and done it. I dunno how attached she’ll stay to me, but I’d like to find a way to stay in touch. Maybe with photos. I can send them to my friend who lives near her. I will miss that girl the most. She was watching our tro tro as we pulled out of the street. Definitely felt like an awful person. At least she’s still got the others in the house.

We are spending the night at the most incredible resort tonight, which is off putting after how we’ve been living for the past 3 weeks, there’s unlimited water (hot water), an amazing beach. It’s expensive by Ghanaian standards, but by Canadian, incredibly cheap. It’s crazy to see just how much privilege we really have here. It was noticeable before. But now it’s basically being screamed at us. I think you get to a point, where you have to stop feeling bad about your privilege, and start doing more about it instead.

I’m feeling sick-ish, and hopefully it’s gone by tomorrow. No one wants to be on a plane sick.

DAY 20- July 20th

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I find the differences in body image between the West and Ghana to be incredibly interesting. It’s widely known that in Canada, North America, and much of Europe, slim is what is considered beautiful. Eating disorders run rampant, and young girls either starve or purge themselves. Tans are also considered beautiful; it implies that the person has enough money and free time to spend, either in the sun or in a tanning salon. Alternately, in Ghana, curvy women are considered attractive, and lighter skin is valued. Lighter skin is valued so much that many young women will use bleaching cream to lighten, and oftentimes damage their skin.

A friend told me that she was asked if she every thought about lightening her skin. She said no, and the person was surprised. Another friend then brought up that in Canada, girls tan their skin to be darker, and he was absolutely shocked.

I came to Ghana aware that their standards of beauty were different, but it was defintely brought home by the amount of attention I get here. Not on the skinny side, and paler than most actors playing vampires on the big screen, I stand out a fair bit. It’s overwhelming actually, to the point where it makes me uncomfortable, and it seems to be a more aggressive kind of attention, where my not being interested is almost unacceptable. A few have grabbed my arm when I tried to leave. Many many men are very polite, and respectful, but there are always the ones that seemed to not understand the word no.

What it comes down to with a preferred standard of beauty in any country is that it always ends up hurting someone, and so, although in some ways, Ghana’s standard of beauty, in terms of body type, is healthier, in ways, such as their perceptions on their darker skin, they too can do a lot of permanent damage.

DAY EIGHTEEN – July 18th

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Today, we went to Accra, and will be spending the night.

Accra is SO incredibly different from Cape Coast. It’s busier, louder, and just has a different vibe. I’m definitely glad we got to stay in Cape Coast.

The Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Museum is beautiful, and we had some adventures at the National Centre for Art. I have issues with haggling. I’m not great at it. But I am getting better. I also don’t like aggressive salesmanship, but I get that that’s how it has to be done here, so I’m toughening up to it! I got some great things and I think I’m almost done with my souvenirs. It’s weird that we’re kind of in vacation mode now. We went from busy, busy, busy, to… well, busy, but busy doing vacation things. I think it’s going to be hard getting used to being home, with the prices they have back home, but I miss fresh vegetables almost more than I miss the people back home.

The hotel we’re at is amazing. Incredible view, decent rooms (super cheap) and pretty good food. The decor is just in general, really neat. Trees all through the deck. You can hear the ocean in our room, and I look forward to falling asleep to the sound.

This isn’t really an educational blog post, but I think that’s ok.

DAY SEVENTEEN – July 17th

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Today was it, my last day at HEPENS. We went to Komoano, only this time, not to give a talk, but to begin the first building foundations of the HEPENS clinic. Brick by brick. As women (which drives me crazy) it was our job to bring water. And so I brought water. One my head. Across a cocoa farm. Through the forest. It was so heavy, I could not believe it. I felt incredibly proud making it the whole way, barely wet, but it was really hard. Children do this. Children do this on a daily basis. And because of this, they have incredible posture, incredible strength. I’m envious. I was struggling the entire time, and found pride in making it the whole way. To these women, it was just another daily job they did, probably a number of times in one day. Afterwards, we women were asked to go and help the women of the village make fufu for lunch.

Here’s an issue I’ve had this whole trip. I have never been reminded more in my entire life that I am female. The best way I can put this, is that in Canada, I forget that I am female. My sex or gender have some bearing on my life, but in general, it does not occur to me, that I am female. I’m a person who lives in Canada. Here, I find that it is consistently pointed out to me or made clear that I am a woman. It drives me crazy, and I understand that it’s a part of the culture, but it’s definitely one culture shock I don’t think I will be getting over. I understand it, and I understand why, but once again, cultural relativism. I understand it, and I disagree with it.

Not to say making fufu wasn’t fun. In fact the entire rest of the day was fun. I learned to pound fufu. I’m incredibly bad at it.  We ate beyond the point where we couldn’t anymore and somehow managed to finish everything. It was quite the fete.

After lunch, Eva decided she was going to teach me how to do a dance. So we found an electric store blasting music, and began to dance outside of it.

Then the whole village joined us.

It was a blast. The locals, of course, laughed at me while I tried to do the dances they were teaching me. As hard as I try, I cannot do the Azunto (sp?). But it was fun, and saying good bye was hard. Komoano is my favourite village. They are welcoming and giving, and the women are so open with one another. This will be one of the things I miss most about Ghana, and if I come back, I hope I get the chance to go back to that village.

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