Journalists for Human Rights
The lot of us are here to work with a non-governmental organization called Journalists for Human Rights, a relatively young NGO based in Toronto and one dedicated to improving the quality and quantity of human rights reporting in developing countries. The idea is a good one, based on the concept that the media is a powerful tool for education and once people know their rights and what to do when they're violated, they'll feel more empowered to demand better treatment.
It's all very idealistic, as we soon discovered.
We spent today criss-crossing Accra visiting our new offices. Mine is the second floor of a bright red building in a happening neighbourhood whose name I forget. The office is divided into four rooms: one where writers literally put pen to paper and write, another where the “typing pool” puts the story in into the computer system and it’s laid out, another where editors sit and one for the managing editor. I met only a few people – most of whom I already forget! – and will meet the reporter, Sheila, and the volunteer, Brooke, tomorrow.
My office is decidedly less fun and happening than Prue’s office, where everyone seems to be young and interested. There are few people who actually work at my office, which may be part of the “problem.”
There are four computers in the newsroom and no telephone. Amazing.
After half a dozen cab rides and a lovely lunch in Osu at a place called the Country Kitchen, we returned home, where a couple of us – myself included – flaked out for a while. Unfortunately, my room is at the front of the house. The upside is that I sleep in a double bed and have a bathroom that is separate from the rest of the house and I never have to negotiate the awkward stairs. The downside is that because it’s at the front of the house, everyone who visits walks by and the smokers stand outside jawing. Charles, who left tonight, had an entourage visiting – mostly Rastas who played some rhythm tunes and smoked and talked – and a couple of the j-ists we met today stopped by for a visit. For a while there it was utter chaos.
It's all very idealistic, as we soon discovered.
We spent today criss-crossing Accra visiting our new offices. Mine is the second floor of a bright red building in a happening neighbourhood whose name I forget. The office is divided into four rooms: one where writers literally put pen to paper and write, another where the “typing pool” puts the story in into the computer system and it’s laid out, another where editors sit and one for the managing editor. I met only a few people – most of whom I already forget! – and will meet the reporter, Sheila, and the volunteer, Brooke, tomorrow.
My office is decidedly less fun and happening than Prue’s office, where everyone seems to be young and interested. There are few people who actually work at my office, which may be part of the “problem.”
There are four computers in the newsroom and no telephone. Amazing.
After half a dozen cab rides and a lovely lunch in Osu at a place called the Country Kitchen, we returned home, where a couple of us – myself included – flaked out for a while. Unfortunately, my room is at the front of the house. The upside is that I sleep in a double bed and have a bathroom that is separate from the rest of the house and I never have to negotiate the awkward stairs. The downside is that because it’s at the front of the house, everyone who visits walks by and the smokers stand outside jawing. Charles, who left tonight, had an entourage visiting – mostly Rastas who played some rhythm tunes and smoked and talked – and a couple of the j-ists we met today stopped by for a visit. For a while there it was utter chaos.
posted by Palmer in Africa at 6:09 AM
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