Day 29--Offshore Cote D'Ivoire enroute to Ghana

21 September. 04° 06” N, 03° 58” W. Course = 088°, Speed = 16 knots.

We’re now about 300 nautical miles (NM) north of the equator and 300NM west of the prime meridian, which puts us about the same distance northwest of what the Ghanaians call “the center of the world”: the point where the two lines cross, dividing the northern from the southern hemisphere and the east from the west.

The air has been very heavy for the past 3 days, feeling very tropical, even though the temperatures haven’t gone much above the low 80’s Fahrenheit. It’s been the kind of weather that makes the westerners onboard—those from the arid states of New Mexico, Nevada, Wyoming, Utah, parts of California and Colorado—race for the air-conditioned rooms and those from the deep South walk outside and say, “Home!” But the air, regardless of temperature or humidity, hasn’t kept the students away from their 7th-deck pool and solar haven, which is teeming with young sun-worshippers from early morning ‘til the sun goes down. They seem to take a break only to go to classes, then they hustle back to the 7th deck and, like solar panels programmed to track the sun, slowly rotate their chairs and chaises through the day to get maximum rays. To be young, vain, and foolish . . .

I spent much of last week grading: watching students in my public speaking class deliver their “This I Believe” speeches and grading the journal entries of my intercultural communication and business communication classes.

The speeches were (almost all) wonderful. The seven students clearly had spent some time thinking about, constructing, and practicing the speeches, and the prep showed. I asked them to deliver a speech similar to the ones I’ve heard on the NPR series “This I Believe.” That series asks listeners to submit brief essays describing an idea, person, place, thing, . . . whatever . . . that holds a special place in their lives. Some of the essays are profound, some are light, some are funny, some are very sad. But all are personal and reveal something about the writer. I figured asking the class to do the same would be a good way to help them relax by talking about a subject they knew well. And they could focuse on some of the delivery techniques we’ve been discussing and practicing. It worked very well. One student talked about growing up in Haiti and about the resilience needed to adjust from the hardships of Haiti to the hardships of NYC. Another talked about discovering his dyslexia through the honesty of a 5-year-old pianist who showed him the “right notes” by holding a mirror up to his music. And another talked about kiteboarding in the Dominican Republic—made me want to try it. They were all interesting and provided great workshop fodder.

The journal entries were another matter. I asked students in both classes—intercultural comm. and business comm.—to describe one incident or observation during their visit to either Spain or Morocco, an incident that seemed to signal a dimension of national culture. I didn’t specify a length. “Whatever is necessary to help me see the incident and understand your conclusion” was what I told them. What I got from most students was littered with typical grammatical errors, some more sinful than others. But, worse, much was indecipherable. An example:

“It shed light on a low tolerance of uncertainty type of living, on a sense that
these rules were so important during Ramadan and it seemed that Islam was the only way.”

The writer’s point was that Moroccans’ strict adherence to Islamic traditions during Ramadan is a sign of their low tolerance for uncertainty. I was able to decipher that only because I knew the assignment.

Somehow, somewhere, this student, and many of the others, have determined that more is better: if you’re not sure of the idea, at least put lots of words on the paper. What they haven’t learned, or at least have yet to demonstrate, is how to express an idea clearly. Helping them learn that will be the semester’s challenge.

The good news is that, when I showed my students this example and others—anonymously, of course—they can identify the nuclear idea and can state it clearly. Can they do the same in their own writing? Therein lies the semester’s challenge.

Bob Chapel conducted the cultural pre-port meeting last night to help us prepare for the visit to Ghana. He had also put together and led the pre-port for Morocco, which was a straightforward Powerpoint presentation: talk, bullet points, a few pictures. This time, he decided he’d make it more entertaining. He was inspired two nights ago by “Semester at Sea Has Talent,” a live show modeled after “America’s [Britain’s] Got Talent” and including the same very wide range of abilities. One of the acts was a rap performed by 6 students; they became Bob’s muse.

Bob—Dean Bob—summoned me to his office to listen to the rap he had written about the upcoming visit. “We’re about to pay a visit to . . . Gha-NA. A country that’s located in . . . Af-ri-ca.” Et cetera. I gave him a hard time about the 10-minute-or-so-long rap-not-rap. But he had spent hours studying the guidebooks and talking to our interport lecturer and students. And he had assembled photos to illustrate the rap as he went along. So he was committed, undeterred.

And he was a hit. The rap-not-rap, performed to an electronic background of finger snaps and drum beats, accompanied by colorful photos, and performed by the Dean wearing his baseball cap backward, swaying to the beat, and drawing energy from the laughs and cheers, drew a standing ovation. That from an audience of “experts” who see all of us who are over age 30 as neo-neaderthals. Bob will be reveling in the accolades for days.

What’s more, he energized the crowd gathered in the union. So, when Scott DeVeaux got up to talk about and demonstrate Ghanaian music, with its bells, rattles, and drums that trigger involuntary foot-tapping and swaying, 15 to 20 students and faculty joined him in a traditional dance that circled the performance area for several minutes, hips swaying, arms waving, voices chanting. Everyone agreed the meeting had set a new standard, one that will be hard to match, perhaps impossible to beat.

For now, classes are over and the ship is preparing for the next port. Tonight we have what’s called the logistical pre-port: a meeting to talk about transportation, departure times for field trips, things we can and cannot eat or drink, when we must be back onboard, where and when to pick up and turn in passports, emergency procedures, and other practical essentials.

After the pre-port meeting, there’s poker in the dean’s office. Then bed. Then Ghana.