HC Adventures Abroad: Babysitting in Ghana Is NOT Like Babysitting in the U.S.

Though I only have a few short weeks left in Ghana, I still am nowhere near blending into the culture. Everyday occurrences are still oftentimes totally alien experiences. I’ve survived multiple markets and a death defying canopy walk – what could be more difficult than that? Let’s add kids into mix, shall we? Welcome to a Ghanaian daycare.  
 
Now I’m sure tons of collegiettes™have substantial babysitting experience. Sure, you’ve dealt with brats before – the ones that won’t stop crying or spit up their food or pee when you’re trying to change a diaper. But trust me, African childcare is a whole other animal.

 
The morning we arrived at the daycare, I thought this was a challenge I could tackle – of course I’ve taken care of little kids before. Boy was I wrong! As part of the course I’m taking in Ghana, I’m  required to volunteer a certain number of times during my time here. Dr. Durotoye chose an organization called Street Girls Aid. Mothers of these children tend to be young, single and financially disadvantaged. They drop their kids off in the morning, pay a meager fee, and spend the day selling things they’ve made or other goods. They don’t make much money, but the point is that they make enough to send their children to day care, where they get at least some sort of education.
 
Nothing excited me more than the prospect of being able to hang out with 100+ children all under the age of 6. Yup, you heard me right. That’s how many children attend this daycare. The first day I stepped through the gates, I was immediately overwhelmed. There were so many cute kids … and they were all running straight at me! (Disclaimer: this is partially because I’m white, or, as they say in Ghana, an “obroni.” It’s morbid curiosity.) Regardless, it was one of the most heart-warming experiences of my life … for the first 5 minutes.
 
Shortly after we arrived, order began to dissolve into sheer chaos. These adorable little munchkins turned satanic in a mere matter of seconds. I watched groups of children knowingly single out a weak child, surround him, and begin punching/kicking/slapping/taunting him until he fell onto the ground and broke down, crying helplessly. I watched this happen more than once. I watched boys punch girls; I watched girls slap boys; I watched children take their clothes off for fun. I watched children pee on the ground, through their underwear. Basically, my classmates and I were completely and totally overwhelmed.

 
A brief anecdote to truly illustrate the reason why I suffer brief bouts of PTSD every time I leave the daycare center:
 
The second time we went to the day care, I became an impromptu nurse. The day started off with its usual chaos, as I ran around doing my very best to comfort the multitude of crying children. One girl in particular was giving me trouble. She’s one of the more quiet ones, and she definitely doesn’t attach herself to me the way some kids do. Today, however, she wouldn’t stop crying and came to me to be comforted. It was touching, really. So I sat her down on my lap and tried to soothe her. Eventually the crying all but stopped, and she hopped off my knee and ran away. Mission accomplished, I thought. Little did I know, the best was yet to come.
 
A few minutes later, still patting myself on the back for my child-whispering skills, the little girl comes trotting back over. No longer crying, but holding her hand out to me with a “fix this” look on her face. I’ve come to both fear and loathe this look. I cautiously peered down at her little hand … and it was covered in vomit. I know it’s disgusting, but I kid you not. It took me a moment to get my own stomach under control, and I immediately rushed to find tissues to wipe this child off. After successfully cleaning her filthy hand, I suddenly realized that was the least of my problems. Somewhere there was a lot more of the foul substance. I began scouring the yard and quickly found the remnants of her illness. How did I find it so quickly, you may ask? Easy. I headed straight for the circle of children crowded around a hidden treasure. That treasure was a pile of baby puke. I literally spent the next 10 minutes waiting for a mop and fending off children who, for SOME reason, felt the need to play with the regurgitated contents of this girl’s stomach. Then, I had the distinct pleasure of mopping vomit off dirt. It doesn’t work.
 
Sorry for the graphic detail, but it was necessary. Most days at the daycare have not been that traumatic. But I’ve seen my fair share of blood and urine. Even though I’ve had to put up with these disturbing moments, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. These children are possibly some of the cutest kids I have ever seen. They abuse the crap out of each other and do disgusting things, and yet I look forward to chasing them around the yard, sweating my a** off in the process, every Tuesday and Thursday morning. These are the children of hard-working mothers who sacrificing everything to put their children through some sort of schooling. They want nothing more than a better life for their kids. They’re wonderful people.
               
Next time you’re babysitting at your neighbor’s house enjoying central air and snack foods, don’t complain that the kid just won’t stop yelling. Think of me, surrounded by children and vomit, and thank your lucky stars that you’re getting paid.
 
 
*Street Girls Aid is “a Ghanaian non-governmental organization that assists girls and young mothers who are living on the streets of Accra. S. Aid promotes the psychological, social, and physical well-being of these street children and strongly advocates for their rights.”
 
Photography by Carly Brown