Some ethical and methodological issues Annelies Kusters

Some ethical and methodological issues Annelies Kusters

1. Introduction

Many of the researchers who have visited ‘shared signing communities’

(Kisch 2008) are hearing linguists interested in these communities’ sign languages. A hearing anthropologist (Kisch 2004, 2007, 2008) has done extensive research amongst the Bedouin, and Marsaja (2008) provides us with sociocultural information about Bengkala. Only recently have deaf OLQJXLVWV EHFRPH DFWLYH LQ VLJQ ODQJXDJH ¿HOG UHVHDUFK LQFOXGLQJ DPRQJ the Bedouin, and in Chican (Mexico), Alipur (India), and Bengkala (Bali).

However, deaf-led anthropological research has been absent in such commu- nities until my recent entry into Adamorobe.

The scarcity of ethnographies in these communities means that the sociocultural data largely comes from observations by the abovementioned (mostly hearing) linguists, although they were not focused on conducting in-depth sociocultural research. These sources often state that deaf people are well integrated in such communities. Because of this integration, deaf as well as hearing people tend to see such communities as “representing an idyllic opposite to the Deaf communities of Europe and North America”

(Woll & Ladd, 2003, p. 157); in other words, they are characterised as utopias (Kusters 2010). It is therefore unsurprising that some accounts tend to ‘romanticise’ life in signing communities (such as Van den Bogaerde, 2005; Fox, 2007). Another assumption made by several of the early visi- tors and linguists is that in these communities, no separate deaf culture/

FRPPXQLW\LGHQWLW\ H[LVWV7KLV KDV OHG WR VLPSOL¿HG FRQFOXVLRQV VXFK DV the following: “in the assimilated communities, being deaf itself is irrel- evant, as deaf people have access to everyone in the village” (Bahan & Nash, :ROO /DGGSVWDWHWKDWGH¿QLQJGHDISHRSOHRQO\DV linguistic groups (and assuming that linguistic access constitutes full access) is “to overlook the very real sensory characteristics of their existence, both positive (a unique visual apprehension of the world), and negative (commu-

nication barriers are not simply linguistic, but auditory too)”. Following the belief that the experience of being deaf in a shared signing community is not irrelevant (Kusters 2010), I argue that the researcher’s hearing status is not irrelevant either. This paper offers an analysis of the methodological and HWKLFDOFKDOOHQJHVWKDW,HQFRXQWHUHGGXULQJP\H[SHULHQFHDVWKH¿UVWGHDI anthropologist studying such a community.

Adamorobe is a village in South Ghana, where, during my research, GHDISHRSOHOLYHGDPRQJVWKHDULQJYLOODJHUVWKHPRVWUHFHQW¿JXUH as of 2012, is 41 deaf people and 3,500 hearing people). I resided there for nine months in total, doing participant observation from October 2008 until January 2009 and from May 2009 until October 2009. The central focus of the study was the experiences of deaf people and their relationships with HDFKRWKHUDQGZLWKKHDULQJYLOODJHUV0RUHVSHFL¿FDOO\WKHUHVHDUFKLQYHV- tigated what people say about these relationships, how they say it, what they say that they do and what they actually do. The data from participant obser- YDWLRQ ZDV GRFXPHQWHG LQ ¿HOG QRWHV LQ ZKLFK µWKLFN GHVFULSWLRQV¶ ZHUH created to explain behaviour, utterances and their contexts (Geertz 1973).

The credibility of the data was established by extensive cross-checking. In a later stage of my research, I also organised unstructured and semi-structured interviews with both deaf and hearing people. The inductive method used here enabled me to identify patterns, analyse these in a bottom-up way and build a framework by largely pursuing the premises of ‘grounded theory’

(Strauss and Corbin 1998).

Social researchers should combine the perspectives of insider and outsider (Crow and Allan 1994), and I have aimed to achieve this combination in my deaf studies PhD dissertation, which was written by a deaf researcher, with a deaf supervisor, a deaf-centred theme and mostly deaf participants (Kusters 2012). Hence, the ‘insider’ perspective consisted of investigating Adamorobe deaf people’s spatial practices through producing deaf research spaces myself. This concept is further explored in this paper, and it is demon- strated that being an insider in the experience of being deaf, naturally does not outweigh other differences, such as being white.

, ¿UVW H[SODLQ P\ RZQ EDFNJURXQG DQG KRZ , FDPH WR GR UHVHDUFK LQ Adamorobe. Then I describe how I obtained informed consent from the deaf YLOODJHUVWKHUHKRZ,ZDVUHFHLYHGLQWKH¿HOGDVDGHDIZKLWHDQWKURSRORJLVW how I related to the hearing people, as well as a few researcher effects. In WKH¿QDOVHFWLRQ,UHÀHFWXSRQWKHSDUWLFLSDQWV¶H[SHFWDWLRQVZKLFKDWOHDVW partially stemmed from the practices of previous visitors (e.g. researchers, tourists, NGO representatives, churches). These have had a major impact on how deaf and hearing white visitors from outside Adamorobe (researchers

included) are received and approached. Therefore, before concluding this SDSHU,VKRUWO\UHÀHFWRQP\UHVSRQVLELOLW\WR$GDPRUREH¶VIXWXUHYLVLWRUV

2. A deaf anthropologist’s journey

I was mainstreamed in a ‘hearing school’ at an early age. I did well at school, spoke well, and used hearing aids; but since I am severely deaf, an easy, XQKDPSHUHG ÀRZ RI WZRZD\ RU JURXS FRPPXQLFDWLRQ ZDV DW WKDW VWDJH non-existent in my life. As such, it was ‘sink or swim’, and I managed to

‘swim’ until I found a boat that brought me to a new space where I felt, to use a common turn of phrase, ‘at home among strangers’ (cf. Schein 1989).

This is how it happened. In 2003, I was an anthropology student at the University of Leuven in my motherland Belgium, dreaming of becoming ‘a UHDODQWKURSRORJLVW¶6RPHWKLQJZDVPLVVLQJDIRFXVDWRSLFWKDWZRXOG¿UH me with enthusiasm. I was quite adrift until I received the list of possible GLVVHUWDWLRQWRSLFV$VPDOOÀDPHVWDUWHGWRVPRXOGHUZKHQ,VDZWKDWµ'HDI culture’ was one of the topics in the list. I read the classics of Padden and Humphries (1988) and Baynton (1996) and these books were revelations.

My interest was aroused immediately, and many things were turned around SURIRXQGO\DQGGH¿QLWLYHO\QHYHUWRORRNWKHVDPHDJDLQ,UHDOLVHGWKDWLW was not too late, and that there were many people like me, who had become

‘late-adopted children’ in Deaf communities. I withdrew from my hearing scouts group, enrolled in a deaf youth club and started to learn Vlaamse Gebarentaal (Flemish Sign Language) enthusiastically.

What was more, I found my purpose. I decided that I wanted to be a deaf anthropologist researching deaf people’s life-worlds, rather than an anthro- pologist trying to ‘overcome’ her deafness whilst doing research. I started to GHYRXURWKHUGHDIVWXGLHVFODVVLFVDQGLQ2FWREHU,ÀHZWRWKHIRUPHU Dutch colony Surinam (South America) to conduct research for my disserta- tion on the urban Deaf community in the capital, Paramaribo. The aim was to explore the role the deaf school, deaf club and former colony played in deaf people’s everyday lives (Kusters 2006).

During my three-month stay in Paramaribo, I learned that some of the schoolchildren came from the inland where small communities of Indians and Maroons lived, with a high rate of hereditary deafness and ‘their own sign languages’ (see also Tervoort 1978, Van den Bogaerde 2005). A few months earlier, I had read Groce’s (1985) classic about Martha’s Vineyard.

0\ÀDPHVWDUWHGWREXUQPRUH¿HUFHO\,ZDQWHGZKDW,WKHQUHJDUGHGDVWKH

‘traditional’ anthropological experience: doing research in a rural location.

I did not go to the Surinam innerland: this was not part of my research, nor GLG,KDYHWKHSUHFLVHFRRUGLQDWHVRUWKH¿QDQFLDOPHDQVWRWUDYHOLQWRWKH Amazon, nor did I feel ready for that. I was still very much a new inductee in WKH¿HOGVRIDQWKURSRORJ\DQGGHDIVWXGLHV1RQHWKHOHVV,VWDUWHGGUHDPLQJ

“Who knows? Maybe one day…”

Subsequently, I did the MSc in Deaf Studies at the University of Bristol.

During this period, I reviewed the sociocultural literature on ‘Martha’s Vineyard situations’, called ‘shared signing communities’ by Kisch (2008), which ultimately led to a critical review (Kusters 2010). The idea of doing ethnographic research in such a location took shape, and I ended up in Adamorobe. The place had not yet been studied by anthropologists, only by linguists, geneticists and medical researchers. I had read Nyst’s (2007) account of Adamorobe Sign Language (hereafter AdaSL), and learned that the number of deaf people there was considerable (not small and scattered as LQ6XULQDPDQGKDGDVLJQL¿FDQWJHQHUDWLRQDOGHSWK:KDWZDVPRUH,KDG already been in the country; to bridge a gap of three free months during my studies, I volunteered at a school for deaf children with 200 pupils located in a rural and rather remote setting in the North Ghanaian savannah, and resided with a host family in a nearby village. Already having a sense of village life in Ghana and of how to negotiate the country, I could imagine P\VHOIGRLQJ¿HOGZRUNLQ*KDQD

I learned that Adamorobe is a village where sign language is used by many, and where deaf people have established their place in the village’s everyday life. All deaf-hearing interactions in Adamorobe happen in more RUOHVVSUR¿FLHQW$GD6/PRUHRUOHVVLQÀXHQFHGE\7ZL0RVWGHDISHRSOH maintain intensive social relationships with a number of hearing family members, neighbours and/or friends. Almost all deaf people also frequently interact in deaf-only conversations, typically in groups of between two and eight. Interestingly, deaf-hearing interactions that I observed were typically shorter than deaf-deaf interactions. In this article, I expand upon social rela- tionships in Adamorobe only in the context of methodological and ethical LVVXHVEXWWKHVRFLROLQJXLVWLFSUR¿OHRI$GDPRUREHLQFOXGHGLQWKLVYROXPH provides more information.

3. Informed consent

3.1. The pilot visit

Six months before my research began, I undertook a two-week pilot visit to Accra in April 2008, to introduce myself to the deaf inhabitants and seek

informed consent. Often, consent processes for studies involving deaf people are not deaf-friendly (Singleton et al. 2010); for example, they do not provide (enough) information in sign language about the research and its aims. The Centre for Deaf Studies (2005) at the University of Bristol formulated ethical regulations for deaf-friendly research, particularly emphasising sign language access in the consent process. However, gaining informed consent for my study in Adamorobe was not as straightforward as these regulations prescribe. Neither the contents nor the form of the pre-formulated individual written-English consent forms matched my research procedure and methods.

The use of individual consent forms is informed by our Western notions of individualism and often has little meaning or relevance in communities where it is often the leaders who make such decisions (Czymoniewicz- Klippel, Brijnath, & Crockett 2010). Czymoniewicz-Klippel et al. (2010) also conclude that written consent is inappropriate when literacy rates are low, which is the case for the deaf people in Adamorobe. For these reasons I decided to turn to the Code of Ethics of the American Anthropological

$VVRFLDWLRQ$$$LQVWHDGZKLFKLVVSHFL¿FDOO\GHVLJQHGIRUHWKQRJUDSKLF

¿HOGZRUN$VWKH$$$&RGHRI(WKLFVVWDWHV³LWLVWKHTXDOLW\RIWKH consent, not the format, that is relevant” (III.A.4). For this purpose I drafted a rough outline of my research aims and methods in a way that would be clear and straightforward. I planned to explain that I wanted to take part in the deaf people’s daily lives by observing and having conversations; that during these informal conversations I would ask questions about their work, back- grounds, communication and so on; and that I would also organise recorded interviews about these themes.

From Accra I visited Adamorobe three times in order to obtain informed consent, accompanied by Francis Boison, a deaf ex-president of the Ghana National Association of the Deaf who I had met before in the UK and who DOVRIDFLOLWDWHG1\VW¶VDFFHVVWR$GDPRUREH'XULQJWKH¿UVWYLVLWZH had a meeting with the deaf people’s gatekeepers: a hearing leader, Agnes Bomo, a woman from a deaf family who acts as the deaf people’s inter- SUHWHULQLQWHUDFWLRQVZLWKRXWVLGHUVDQGYLOODJHRI¿FLDOVDQGDGHDIOHDGHU Samuel Adjei, a deaf man from Accra who lives in Adamorobe. I was intro- duced to them and we communicated through Francis Boison’s sister who acted as interpreter for me and Agnes Bomo, translating between Twi and Ghanaian Sign Language (GSL). During my stay in North Ghana in 2006, I KDGDFTXLUHGWKHEDVLFVRI*6/VR,ZDVDEOHWRH[SUHVVP\VHOIVXI¿FLHQWO\

in this language.

The second visit to the village was aimed at acquiring group consent from the deaf people, after their weekly church service on a Sunday. I signed each

paragraph of the information sheet in plain GSL and Francis translated this into a mixture of GSL and gesture, adding culturally suitable examples to indicate what my research would mean for the deaf people’s everyday lives.

Agnes Bomo then offered additional explanations in AdaSL, based on our conversation with her the week before. (Because there was nobody who could translate directly from GSL into AdaSL, this appeared to be the best ZD\IRUZDUG7KHPHHWLQJZDV¿OPHGE\DGHDIZRPDQIURP$FFUDDQG WKLV¿OPZDVP\µFRQVHQWIRUP¶'XULQJWKHWKLUGYLVLWZHDLPHGWRJDLQWKH FRQVHQWRIWKHYLOODJHDXWKRULWLHVPRUHVSHFL¿FDOO\IURPDQRI¿FLDOFDOOHG the Assembly Member. When asking for his consent, I used the same infor- mation sheet again, with the GSL/Twi interpreter. This public event, with the Assembly Member’s advisor and the deaf people present, was recorded by video as well.

Thus, I gained consent for participant observation and interviews, and DOVRGLVFXVVHGWKHLVVXHVRIUHFLSURFLW\DQRQ\PLW\DQGFRQ¿GHQWLDOLW\5HFL- procity will be discussed further in this article. As for anonymity it appeared that people were happy for me to use their real names. The idea of changing their names in ‘a book that is about them’, seemed very odd to them. Van der Geest (2003:18) questioned whether changing peoples’ names against their wishes could be considered “ethical paternalism”, stating that anthropolo- gists “have been ethnocentric in applying their own ethical standards in their

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3.2. Ongoing processes of consent

Interestingly, after explaining my research aims and methods, the people involved were not interested in getting more details about the research, rather they were discussing practical issues such as my accommodation. Also, Hammersley and Atkinson (2007:65) state that people “will often be more concerned with what kind of person the researcher is than with the research itself”. In Adamorobe this was particularly demonstrated by the fact that the deaf people were enthusiastic about my own deafness: they said this was WKHPDLQIDFWRUIRUWKHPJLYLQJWKHFRQVHQW7KLVLVD¿UVWH[DPSOHRIKRZ my own deafness played a role for the people under study, at least in their discourses.

When doing ethnographic long-term research in a small community, research ethics is not as simple as a one-time formal agreement before the UHVHDUFKVWDUWV,WZDVWKH¿UVWWLPHWKDWDQDQWKURSRORJLVWUHVLGHGLQ$GDP- RUREH DQG WKH UHVHDUFK PHWKRGV XVHG LQ HWKQRJUDSK\ DUH OHVV GH¿QHG DQG

transparent than the methods of linguists and geneticists. West (2009) corrob- orates Josselson’s (2007) assertion that informed consent is an oxymoron, because participants cannot imagine or know in advance how the research process will be experienced; and that consent mainly develops through the continuation and development of research relationships and dialogue. Once my AdaSL improved, I found myself explaining on occasion what kind of information I was gathering and why I was making notes. I also showed pictures and movies of myself giving lectures in order to give the deaf people an impression about how I was going to spread the information. These factors of course do not diminish the importance of getting informed consent in advance of the research: the deaf people regularly mentioned that they appreciated the fact that I came to ask them for formal consent beforehand.

Some of the initial ethical agreements and plans were altered because WKH\QRORQJHUUHDOO\¿WDQXPEHURIGHDISHRSOH¶VH[SHFWDWLRQVDQGVHQVL- tivities, such as the requests for reciprocity that gradually arose in the course of my research (as will be discussed further). Another example was partici- SDQWV¶KLJKGHJUHHRIÀH[LELOLW\UHJDUGLQJP\XVHRIWKHYLGHRGDWD,QLWLDOO\, expected it might be sensitive to show pictures and recorded fragments from individual interviews during presentations, as would probably be the case in the Western world. It turned out that they actually expected me to show these pictures and interview fragments to be able to inform audiences properly about Adamorobe.

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4.1. Arrival in Adamorobe

When I arrived in Adamorobe at 15th October 2008, I felt like an awkward newcomer, an invader: I was neither invited, nor necessary (Glesne &

Peshkin 1992). Because deaf people’s houses were too small to offer me a room, I resided in the large house of a hearing family who had a spare room, located very close to many deaf people.¹ I wondered whether I just could go to deaf people’s homes to talk with them, although I did not know them yet. I was fortunate as several deaf people saved me from this dilemma, and took the initiative to visit me in my room. Several of them came to see if I was comfortable in my room, showed me where I could buy food, and brought water from the pump. They took me around in the village and took turns interacting with me in order to teach me their language. Thus, I got a very friendly, warm and hospitable welcome in Adamorobe. As already

mentioned, the deaf people told me that they were attracted by the fact that I was ‘like them’. For example:

A few deaf people gathered at Ama Korkor’s house in the night. Kwasi Opare was very enthusiastic. He said he wanted to give me cassava from his farm because we are both deaf. He shook my hand and said enthusiastically: “We are both deaf, you are white, but do I push you away? No! We are friends, both deaf”. He repeated this time after time: “You are white and I am black, but do I push you away? No!” (Field notes 25 October 2008)

Several deaf people contrasted my visit with those of the many white hearing people who visited Adamorobe for shorter or longer periods:

“These visitors let the deaf people be called to talk with them, but they are hearing white people, bah.” Kwame Osae paused, pointed at me and said

“You DEAFSAME!” and continued: “They just talk and talk, they give money to us, say byebye and are gone”. (Field notes 9 November 2008)

Of course, because in Ghanaian culture, hospitality and generosity are highly valued (Utley 2009), I cannot judge if they were really more hospitable and generous towards me as they would be towards hearing white people such as Nyst (2007). I present it here as the discourse they maintained when giving PHDSODFHLQ$GDPRUREH$VDUHVXOWDIWHUWHQGD\VLQWKH¿HOG,ZURWH³, don’t really feel like a complete outsider here, because the deaf sign: ‘WE DEAFSAME’ so often”.

4.2. Becoming part of the social network

Every day I woke up at the same time as the sun and the rest of the village:

at 5.30 am, bathing myself quickly and going outside to mingle in the highly social village life in the morning hours, before many people leave for their farmlands, jobs, or schools. Evenings were also important: after people are back from their farms and have bathed, they sit together outside and share stories, news and opinions. I usually went to the spots where deaf people often meet each other to exchange greetings and to have a chat, and auto- matically they would tell me what they were talking about. I also followed the local custom of making rounds in the village to greet people that I knew and to catch up on village news. If I came across deaf people processing maize or other small farm products or plants, I sat down and lent a hand. The majority of daily life in Adamorobe happens in the open air, which facilitated all these contacts, although deaf people also came to my room to visit and chat, or to discuss their life, concerns and histories in a more private way.

Finally, I visited the farmlands of some deaf people, and attended the weekly

signed (in GSL) Lutheran deaf church services and other village events such as funerals or festivals.

Learning AdaSL proved to be the ideal icebreaker. Several deaf people spent many hours teaching me their language. They started by telling me the signs for food items and animals by demonstrating, pointing or pantomiming.

They talked about topics such as their farms, witchcraft, dwarf sprits at the Ayisi river, their relationships with hearing people, village life in the past and about traditional religion and the Christian church. When talking with me, they adapted their signing, signing plain AdaSL slowly, and providing additional contextual information. It was easier for me to sign with deaf than with hearing people, because hearing people’s signing often was more or less accented by Twi (also see Nyst 2007). Most deaf people knew some GSL signs through the church, making it a shared language (to a minimal extent), and initially, they would use GSL signs here and there when using AdaSL with me. Gradually our mutual language use became more and more

$GD6/DQGZKHQ,EHFDPHPRUHÀXHQWLQLWWKHGHDISHRSOHZHUHYHU\SURXG that their teaching was fruitful and they increasingly expected me to actively participate in conversations and to talk about where I come from.

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I often wondered how deaf people in Adamorobe interacted with each other and with hearing people when I was not present. When a researcher positions her/himself in a research setting, a new space is produced that incorporates the researcher, and the effects of her/his presence and participation. Often the deaf people themselves made me aware of such researcher effects by pointing out differences in the atmosphere when I was present in Adamorobe.

For example, several of them told me that when I was there, deaf people had IHZHUDUJXPHQWVDQGFRQÀLFWV³:KHQ\RXDUHKHUHGHDISHRSOHLQVXOWHDFK other much less. If you leave here, everyone will call each other names like foolish and hardheaded”. They also said that deaf people more often sought each others’ company for conversations when I was in the village. In addition, deaf people who normally do not visit each other would stay at the homes of other deaf people when they saw that I was there (“When you are not here he never comes inside our place!”). Is this because they want to behave better when outsiders are there? Was my presence a refreshing new experi- ence or distraction? Or did they feel more united as deaf group when a (deaf) researcher investigated their deaf experiences? In other words, did I uncon- VFLRXVO\DQGXQLQWHQWLRQDOO\FRQ¿UPDQGERRVWWKHLUµDEAFSAME’ feeling?

,WLVLPSRVVLEOHWRGLVHQWDQJOHWKHLQÀXHQFHVRIP\GHDIQHVVIURPWKRVH of my white skin or outsider/visitor-status. I could however note one rather clear example of a probably deaf-related researcher’s effect: I suspect that they complained more about hearing people to me than to the hearing linguis- tics researcher Nyst, who also interacted with them intensively during a long

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“hearing are bad”.² The remark that “hearing are bad”, has to be situated in the wider context of deaf-hearing relationships in Adamorobe. Elsewhere (Kusters 2012) I analyse these relations in further detail: the mistrust and suspicion towards hearing people in the community and beyond is caused by experiences of oppression and discrimination (also see the sociolinguistic SUR¿OHRI$GDPRUREHLQWKLVYROXPH

To me, deaf people often complained about hearing people discriminating against them in daily life (such as scorning them), but actually I seldom observed such discrimination, so I started to wonder what deaf-hearing inter- actions were like when I was not present. Do hearing people also ‘behave better’ when I am around? And on the other hand: do hearing and deaf people perhaps have more contact with each other when I am not around? After all, when I was present, many deaf people preferred to talk with me or with other deaf people (who joined our gathering or whose conversation I was joining) than with hearing people.

The existence of such researcher effects does not mean that I investi- gated situations that were ‘fake’ and ‘set up’, that my data was not valid, or that such effects should or can be avoided or circumvented. Hammersley and Atkinson (1995:18) argue that “rather than engaging in futile attempts to eliminate the effects of the researcher completely, we should set about understanding them”. These effects actually present an interesting insight in deaf-deaf and deaf-hearing relationships, triggered by the presence of a deaf white researcher. Also, researcher effects are “deeply revealing of how individuals perceive themselves and would like to be perceived” (Monahan )LVKHU ,Q$GDPRUREH WKH GHDI SHRSOH¶V RZQ UHÀHFWLRQV RQ the researcher effects reveal how they theorise deaf-deaf relationships and expectations, what it means to show ‘good behaviour’, and which values are LPSRUWDQWIRUWKHP5HVHDUFKHUHIIHFWVWKXVOHDGWRPXOWLSOHLQWHUSUHWDWLRQV and provide critical insights. So, as Monahan and Fisher (2010: 362, their italics) write, downplaying researcher effects would undervalue

the constant reconstruction of cultural meanings and group identities that occurs through engagement with a steady stream of outsiders and insiders, policies and practices.

$V,ZLOOVKRZLQWKHODVWVHFWLRQRIWKLVSDSHUWKHSHUVLVWHQWLQÀXHQFHRI a constant stream of outsiders clearly shapes deaf people’s expectations towards outsiders.

4.4. Investigating hearing people’s attitudes

During my research there were usually about thirty deaf adults in Adam- orobe, while about ten deaf children from Adamorobe resided at school in Mampong and came home once every three months, during holidays. There ZHUH DERXW ¿IWHHQ GHDI SHRSOH , LQWHUDFWHG ZLWK D JUHDW GHDO $V IRU WKH remaining deaf people, I regularly bumped into them or went to their homes to greet them, sometimes staying for a chat. Contacts with hearing people ZHUHPRUHGLI¿FXOW+HDULQJSHRSOH¶VDWWLWXGHVWRZDUGVPHYDULHGIURPFXUL- osity and friendliness to reservedness and sometimes annoyance.

I did not get as deep an insight into deaf-hearing relationships as I wished because, as explained above, I unwillingly became a kind of a magnet for GHDISHRSOHZKLFKPDGHLWGLI¿FXOWWRDQDO\VHORQJHUGHDIKHDULQJLQWHUDF- WLRQV$ UHODWHG GLI¿FXOW\ ZDV WKDW GHDI SHRSOH ZHUH µSURWHFWLQJ¶ PH IURP (allegedly ‘bad’) hearing people and claiming me as ‘their’ guest: the price I had to pay for their hospitality was being ‘theirs’ in the sense of membership and even ownership. If hearing people would approach me with doubtful intentions (according to the deaf people), such as playful requests to marry me, deaf people would tell me to ignore them, pull or push me away or scorn WKHVHSHRSOH$IWHUWKUHHZHHNVLQWKH¿HOGDGHDIPDQWROGPH³,DPGHDI

\RXDUHGHDI\RXDUHPLQH>JXHVW@$PD.RUNRULVGHDI.R¿%RDKHQHLV deaf, we can talk, but do not talk to hearing people! They are pretenders!”

The minimal amount of contact between hearing people (signers and non- signers) and me posed a methodological problem. Although my research question concerns the experiences of deaf people in Adamorobe, deaf people are located in a larger context that is predominantly hearing and I felt I needed more background information about hearing people’s perspectives on, and experiences with, Adamorobe’s deaf population. In other words, my research could be deaf-centred, but not deaf-only. This issue was resolved by meeting a hearing man called Okyere Joseph (who has been the Assembly 0HPEHURI$GDPRUREHVLQFH'HFHPEHU$IWHUEHLQJLQWKH¿HOGIRU about a week, I met him on the bus from Adamorobe to Madina (a suburb of Accra), and he acted as my guide in Madina. From that moment we had UHJXODU ZULWWHQ FRQYHUVDWLRQV ¿OOLQJ VHYHUDO QRWHERRNV ZLWK ZULWLQJV RQ

Ghanaian culture, chieftaincy, the Akan religion, Adamorobe’s history, the experiences of hearing people with the deaf in Adamorobe, et cetera. When he did not know the answers to my questions, he took the initiative to ask an elder and reported back to me some days later.

I realised that he could help me solve my methodological problem and asked him if he would do some structured interviews with hearing people.

He interviewed nineteen hearing people, asking them about their positive and negative experiences with deaf people, whether they regarded deaf people to be equally intelligent as hearing people, and so on. He visited hearing people at their homes, asked the questions in Twi, and wrote their answers down in English. Of course I could not cross-check the information in the interviews by doing participant observation amongst hearing people. Nevertheless, the interview replies were multifaceted, ambiguous and diverse, providing a rich and varied picture. Some things that deaf people said, or I had experienced ZLWKWKHPZHUHFRQ¿UPHGE\KHDULQJSHRSOHDQGVHYHUDOQHZSHUVSHFWLYHV (and indeed new questions) were offered during these interviews. Okyere Joseph also accompanied me as interpreter (spoken Twi – written English) during about 10 unstructured interviews I conducted with hearing people ZKRKDGVSHFL¿FNQRZOHGJHRI$GDPRUREH¶VFXOWXUHDQGKLVWRU\VXFKDVD priestess, one of the subchiefs, the deaf people’s former teacher and some other elders. He also helped me to construct family trees.

So how did the deaf people react to this working relationship with 2N\HUH"'XULQJWKH¿UVWPRQWKV,GHOLEHUDWHO\GLGQRWLQWHUDFWZLWKKLP too much, instead investing time in my relationships with deaf people. They respected Okyere because of his status in Adamorobe but at the same time a number of them mistrusted him because he is hearing and he does not know AdaSL well. When, during the second period of research, I had increasing contact with him, a number of deaf people expressed their reservations. Most of his work (the information that he was gathering and the structured inter- views) was not immediately visible to them, but now and then they would

¿QGXVLQP\URRPZULWLQJWRHDFKRWKHU,DOZD\VVLJQHGWRWKHPZKDWZH were writing about; but some of them would glare at him and warn me to be careful. During the last months, when Okyere was not only a researcher and interpreter, but also assisted in the deaf people’s business projects (see next section), the deaf people started to respect him more, but they also began to expect more, requesting money and services and expecting him to arrange interpreting for them at a town meeting.

4.5. Deaf-centredness of the research

7RFRQFOXGHWKLVVHFWLRQDERXWP\¿HOGZRUNLQ$GDPRUREH,ZLOOUHÀHFWRQ the deaf-centeredness of this research. Clifford writes that

QHLWKHUWKHH[SHULHQFHQRUWKHLQWHUSUHWLYHDFWLYLW\RIWKHVFLHQWL¿FUHVHDUFKHU can be considered innocent. It becomes necessary to conceive ethnography not as the experience and interpretation of a circumscribed “other” reality, but rather as a constructive negotiation involving at least two, and usually more, FRQVFLRXVSROLWLFDOO\VLJQL¿FDQWVXEMHFWV&OLIIRUGP\HPSKDVLV This process of constructive negotiation constituted the very core of my research. For example, when something happened in Adamorobe, I would ask questions about it and my deaf interlocutors would reply, typically linking the event to something else that we had discussed earlier. In other words, a shared body of knowledge came into existence and this formed the backdrop against which things were explained. Central to the creation of this backdrop, and in the production of research spaces, was the experi- ence (or the discourse) of being deaf. An obvious example was the pres- ence of certain researcher’s effects, such as being a magnet for deaf people and for the discussion of deaf-related themes. It is doubtful that these issues would be spontaneously shared in the same way, and to the same extent, with a hearing researcher, as they were with me, a deaf researcher. As a deaf person, I understand certain deaf-related experiences from the inside out, for example, being primarily visually oriented and experiencing barriers. This commonality was meaningful for deaf people in Adamorobe. Other than researcher’s effects, ontological discourses about ‘wanting to be hearing or not’ presented another example: I was asked “if a faith healer would come and offer to make you hearing, would you say yes?”. They wanted to learn my deaf-related opinions and experiences just like I wanted to learn about theirs.

Being a ‘magnet’ for deaf people and conversations about being deaf also OHGPHWRZLVK³,FRXOGEHDÀ\RQWKHZDOO´WRVHHZKDWGHDIGHDIDQGGHDI KHDULQJLQWHUDFWLRQV ZHUH OLNH ZLWKRXW PH SUHVHQW´$OVR ³LI RQO\ WKDW À\

could understand spoken Twi,” I would have been able to learn more about what hearing people say about deaf people. During my research I was not able to gain insight into questions such as which factors promote good deaf- hearing relationships, whether and to what extent deaf people are discrimi- nated against within their homes, and whether and to what extent deaf-deaf interactions were different when I was not present in the village.

There were other obvious limitations in my understanding: I am deaf, but I am not Adamorobee, not Ghanaian and not black. I am deaf, but I did not grow up with sign language and I experienced oralism. I am deaf and I can read; I am educated, while they are not. I am deaf and I married a deaf person without any problem, a right that they cannot enjoy.³ In short: I am insider in terms of being ‘biologically deaf’ and certain socio-cultural experiences that come with it but I am an outsider in many other domains. The latter became especially clear with regard to expectations of reciprocity.

5. Expectations, requests and reciprocity

It is in the interest of both the researcher and the people under study to agree on expressions of reciprocity. The reciprocity requested by the deaf people in Adamorobe and their leaders during the pilot visits was of the kind they were used to receiving from previous visitors and researchers: regular gifts such as clothes, rice (considered a luxury product) or a big piece of laundry VRDS'XULQJP\PRQWKVRI¿HOGZRUN,SURYLGHGHYHU\GHDISHUVRQZLWK a gift every 2 or 3 weeks, and a packet of several gifts at the end of each of the two research periods. To the deaf people I interviewed, I gave some cash. I also regularly gave treats to the people who provided me with the most information (including other deaf people who happened to be around), such as extra gifts, soft drinks, palm wine, groundnuts, cookies, snacks and sometimes a meal. After a while it became apparent that the distributions and treats no longer matched their expectations and wishes. For me, it was GLI¿FXOWWR¿QDQFHDQGRUJDQLVHVXFKGLVWULEXWLRQVWRSHRSOHHYHU\IHZ weeks from my already tight research budget, but the deaf people were used to far more generous donations.

5.1. Adamorobe’s history of donations

7KHPRVWVXEVWDQWLDO±DQGSUREDEO\¿UVW±H[DPSOHRIFKDULW\IRUGHDISHRSOH LQ$GDPRUREHZHUHWKHGRQDWLRQVRUJDQLVHGE\WKH5HY$QGUHZ)RVWHUWKH man who established deaf education in Ghana and many other African coun- tries. In the late 1950s, the 1960s and the 1970s the deaf people received subsistence products such as rice, clothes, sandals, tootbrushes, oil, cocoa powder, soap, bread, sugar, milk, onions, groundnuts, corn, money, towels, caps, and watches. Over many years, several other churches, NGO’s and wealthy individuals (some of them foreign, some of them Ghanaian) have donated items to the deaf people.

Apparently, none of these donations could come close to Foster’s: if they were the same in size, then they did not match in terms of frequency.

According to Agnes Bomo, Foster’s donations came biweekly, for years. It was often said that “Foster was the ¿UVW”: not only in time, but also in the hierarchy of generosity. Foster’s sudden death in 1987 is often seen as the end of a golden era when the deaf people were never hungry, although it appeared that his donations stopped more than ten years before his death.

Not only did Foster’s donations end, but the deaf people apparently also receive fewer donations from churches, NGO’s and individuals now than in the past. Kwame Osae regularly complained that “In the past, white people came here so often and they distributed money and food and clothes and now that’s all over. White people haven’t been coming for such a long time now.” It was believed that donations that the chief (who resides in the USA part-time) received for Adamorobe in America, were not passed on to the village. I assume that the decrease in donations might also be a consequence of the fact that the international discourse about charity has gradually shifted from a focus on aid to a focus on development cooperation. Agnes Bomo explained how a white man, who came to announce the cessation of Foster’s donations, explained the principle of ‘feed yourself’: “everybody should work hard themselves to get food to eat.”

:KLOH DFNQRZOHGJLQJ WKH YDOXH RI VHOIVXI¿FLHQF\ DQG KDUG ZRUN D number of deaf people feel disappointed and abandoned and even some- times blame white people or the church⁴ for their current poverty. These deaf people thus tend to regard donations not merely as an (extra) gesture to provide some delight and to show gratitude, but also as substantial support that they rightfully deserve.⁵

Compared with Foster’s donations and some other one-off huge dona- tions from churches and NGO’s, my gifts of reciprocity were meagre, and when a particular elderly deaf man told me his Foster stories, he often lashed out at me: “And you, do you do that? Think about it, now that you know about him!”:

Whitey [Foster’s wife] and Foster kept going hence and forth: they had a lot of money, Foster…You have to think to give me money (looks away). (shy and then adamant:) You see, I’m sitting here and I don’t have money, I stay here and do you give me money? No. I tell you: you have to think and give me money. Then I ask: what for? For food...? Ok, and then I thank you and I say: God bless you. (…) You have to grope in your pocket pitifully and give PRQH\IRU¿VKRUNHQNH\WKDWLVULJKW,GRQRWKDYHPRQH\DQG,MXVWVLWVLW- ting. (adamant) Do you give me money? Do you give me a bunch of money?

I do not have money, you have a lot of money and I don’t, so you should give me a lot of money! (Interview 21 November 2008)

I explained that I am a student, going to ‘the big school’ in England, and earning no money, I am coming to Ghana ‘for the big school’, which paid my ÀLJKWDQGFDPHUD7KH\XQGHUVWRRGEXWW\SLFDOO\UHSOLHG,VKRXOGJLYHDOLWWOH money now and then, from my heart, because of the simple fact that I had more money than them, drawing on the spirit of Christian charity philosophy and emphasising that “God sees you.” People who have money but do not share it are labelled as having a “hard head” and a “hard heart”. The fact that I was able to distribute these regular gifts and that I possessed a handheld YLGHRFDPHUDDQGDODSWRSFRQVWDQWO\FRQ¿UPHGWKDW,KDGDFFHVVWRFHUWDLQ UHVRXUFHVDQGDVVXFKWKHH[LVWLQJLQHTXDOLW\ZDVUHDI¿UPHGFI%OHHN

The donations were probably inspired by a concept of deaf people as disabled and/or needy. The way in which one charity, Signs of Hope Inter- national, has tried to gather sponsorship money for the education of Adam- RUREH¶VGHDIFKLOGUHQLVDJRRGH[DPSOH5HFHQWO\6LJQVRI+RSHXSORDGHG a movie to their website⁶ that shows Adamorobe as a poor village where deaf people do not have an opportunity to go to school; this movie represented Adamorobe as a place lacking resources in need of intervention. However, in fact almost all the deaf children were in school at the time this movie was recorded. This movie also portrayed deaf villagers as having no means of communication in their daily life (!). Its soundtrack, which is subtitled, is a melancholy song about “people sitting in the darkness” and the importance of “changing the world for them.”

Deaf people are thus framed as needy, while in the past there appar- ently was no real difference between deaf and hearing people in Adam- orobe as regards their occupation and life standard: almost all of them were farmers. Foster’s donations were for deaf people only, as were the NGO’s DQGFKXUFKHV¶GRQDWLRQV(YHQWKRXJKWKHUHLVPRUHVWUDWL¿FDWLRQWRGD\ZLWK more prosperous hearing people than deaf people, who remained unedu- cated, there are still hearing people who are as poor as the deaf; yet it is the deaf who get support. A good example is a deaf woman whose deaf daughter is supported by Signs of Hope to go to school while her hearing son does not attend school because she cannot afford it, and his father does not support KLVHGXFDWLRQ2N\HUH-RVHSKUHÀHFWHGRQWKHFRQVHTXHQFHVRIWKLVSDWWHUQ

The question is: why not raise funds for all the Adamorobe people, not just the Adamorobe deaf? And if only deaf, why? This shows the difference be- tween deaf and hearing people. So in my own opinion, the people who help the deaf separate the deaf from hearing. (…) In the past we thought we were all the same range, the same life and when everybody came from overseas to Adamorobe, they think of the deaf. (Conversation with Okyere Joseph, 4 August 2009)

It does not matter then whether hearing people are jealous or have an accepting attitude or are critical but not jealous (all of these attitudes were reported), and whether it is a development project in the style of ‘feed your- self’ or a charity gift: by those initiating the projects, deaf people are seen as different from hearing people, as more needy.

Deaf people in Adamorobe adopted the discourse of neediness, employing it strategically and selectively in their interactions with outsiders like me, emphasising their lack of formal education and consequently fewer opportu- nities to earn a living. Their expectations towards me were apparently rein- forced by my own deafness, or at least that was the discourse employed by them: according to them, I got more requests than Nyst, the linguist,

“because you are deaf and she was hearing.” Hence they were strategically XVLQJRXUVKDUHGGHDIQHVVWRFODLP¿QDQFLDOFRPPLWPHQWIURPPH³%XW you are deaf, deaf-deaf help each other.” “DEAFSAME, you can stay and you give us things. But others…”

5.2. Deaf micro-businesses

,Q DGGLWLRQ WR WKH SROLWLFV VXUURXQGLQJ GLVWULEXWLRQV RU ¿QDQFLDO JLIWV , received several requests from a number of deaf people and their pastor to support the deaf people in Adamorobe in a more structured way. More specif- ically, I was asked to invest in microbusinesses for the deaf adults. In Ghana, people buy bulk supplies of products (such as soap, okra, tin tomatoes, salt,

¿VKLQWKHFLW\LQRUGHUWRVHOOWKHPE\WKHSLHFHZLWKDSUR¿WPDUJLQLQ a stall or small shop, or by hawking with a dish on their heads. Also, women prepare Ghanaian dishes such as jollof, kenkey,⁷ banku⁸ et cetera, to sell it by the plate. Men can invest in machines such as grinding machines or weedi- cide sprayers to provide services. Only two or three deaf people in Adam- orobe were maintaining such microbusinesses.

I agree with Hammersley & Atkinson (2007: 209) who state that “the immediate goal of ethnography should be the production of knowledge,” but LQWKHOLJKWRIUHFLSURFLW\LQGHHGPRUHIDUUHDFKLQJWKDQ¿UVWDJUHHGDQG because I subscribed to the philosophy of these projects, I promised to do my best to identify resources. I succeeded in obtaining funding for these projects and also to sponsor the education of a few deaf schoolchildren in Adamorobe and to provide the deaf people with medical insurance in the new large-scale National Health Insurance Scheme.⁹

A Ghanaian elderly lady who is an (NGO-) expert in such microbusi- nesses and revolving loan projects with experience in all of Ghana, came to

Adamorobe to explain the philosophy behind the projects and to advise the deaf people on their choice of businesses. After her visit, I went to Accra several times to meet this expert again to solicit her advice. I helped to start XSDOPRVWWZHQW\¿YHPLFUREXVLQHVVSURMHFWVZHHGLFLGHVSUD\LQJWRPDWR blending, cutlass grinding, goat rearing, the selling of cutlasses, kerosene, IUR]HQ DQG SUHSDUHG FKLFNHQ VPRNHG ¿VK VRDS VQDFNVkenkey and “red red”, a dish made of beans. Okyere Joseph supported the practical side of the projects, and we drove to Madina, Accra and Nsawam with the deaf people in small groups to buy what they needed.

When the projects were started up, they initially thrived, and almost all the deaf people involved seemed motivated and enthusiastic. A good begin- QLQJLVKDOIWKHEDWWOHZRQEXWQDWXUDOO\LWSURYHGPRUHGLI¿FXOWWRFRQWLQXH After a few weeks, some people became indolent, putting off the visits to buy supplies in Madina, although deaf people put social pressure on each other and scolded each other if their motivation for their business seemed to be waning. Some of them started to request more from me, such as a table to sell their products on, a shed for the goats or a loan if they had spent too much RIWKHLUSUR¿WV$OVRVRPHRIWKHPVROGWRRPDQ\LWHPVRQFUHGLWZKLFKLVD known problem in the village, also for hearing vendors.

I was concerned about the future of the businesses after my departure, as I was told that many deaf people were ‘keeping up appearances’ while I was still around and would stop working and use the proceeds once I had I left.

Their pastor agreed to do the follow-up and Okyere Joseph would support WKHPSUDFWLFDOO\LIQHHGHG)RUWKH¿UVWIHZPRQWKVDIWHUP\UHVHDUFK,JRW positive SMS messages from the pastor and Okyere Joseph that they were continuing their work, but half a year later I was told that most of the deaf people had discontinued their businesses for various reasons. It could be partially linked with the ingrained pattern of getting donations although it DOVRFRXOGEHGXHWRSUREOHPVLQKHUHQWLQPLFUR¿QDQFH

Looking back, I still do not know whether it was a good idea to set up the business projects. My projects in fact continued the trend of ‘focusing on the deaf people’ – although for me it was more a way to ‘give back’ to deaf people rather than ‘to do good for the poor.’ (“They give me the data, hospitality and coaching, I give them materials and supplies for their busi- ness,” I reasoned). However, given the history of donations in Adamorobe, my motivation perhaps did not make much difference, as the outcome was the same: a focus on deaf people.

On the other hand, if I had not initated and engaged in these projects, frus- tration would probably have lingered and would possibly have escalated, as requests were increasing exponentially with the length of my stay there and

had become more insistent. This can lead to severe ethical and methodolog- ical problems, such as how to be sincere, and how to conduct research among people who mistrust and suspect your intentions (Bleek 1979). For example, several deaf people had started to show unwillingness to have conversations with me that would provide me with data.

After I started the business projects and arranged for the medical insur- ance, a number of the deaf people’s attitude changed, they became more open DQGIULHQGO\DJDLQDOPRVWOLNHWKH¿UVWUHVHDUFKSHULRGZKHQWKHFRUGLDOLW\

DQGKRVSLWDOLW\ZDVDWLWVKLJKHVW<HWWKH\IRXQGLWGLI¿FXOWWRGLJHVWWKDW I gathered ‘a lot of money’ (i.e. the budget for the projects and schooling) and did not want to give it directly to them. These frustrations were latent, not always visible in everyday interactions (i.e. they never refused to talk to me outright) but they were there, simmering, and surfacing occasionally. On the other hand, we had many nice moments, real pleasure and good laughs, which cannot be feigned. In the last two weeks of my stay, many of the deaf people repeated over and over again that it was a shame that I was leaving, and my biggest critic told me that he had actually appreciated my honesty, consistency and sincerity during my stay in Adamorobe. Hence, the relation- ship between me and the research participants was characterised by ambi- guity.

5.3. Considering the need to ‘protect’ Adamorobe

,QWKHDERYHVHFWLRQV,GHVFULEHGWKHLQÀXHQFHRISUHYLRXVYLVLWRUV¶GRQD- tions on a number of Adamorobe deaf people’s expectations. Naturally, deaf people in Adamorobe had these expectations not only of me, but also of other visitors. My research (Kusters 2012) has revealed that many deaf (and hearing) people in Adamorobe feel strongly ambivalent about visitors, whether tourists, project workers or (residing) researchers. Considering the attractiveness of Adamorobe as a ‘deaf village’, I wonder if I, as an anthro- pologist, have the right and/or duty to discourage visitors with certain expec- tations and their own agenda from visiting Adamorobe (empty-handed).

Firstly, a number of deaf and hearing tourists visited Adamorobe because they were fascinated by the pervasiveness of signing there; but the deaf people from Adamorobe are not always interested in receiving such visitors, particularly not if they come empty-handed. For example, during and after the visit of three white deaf people, several deaf people from Adamorobe were upset that these visitors had not brought donations for them. Also, having experienced that not all tourists are generous has made them suspi-

FLRXVDQGWKLVLVUHÀHFWHGLQWKHLUEHKDYLRXUWRZDUGVYLVLWRUV,VSRNHZLWK several other white deaf visitors to Adamorobe who also experienced this suspicion and felt that deaf people in Adamorobe were rather distant, some- times in contrast to hearing villagers.

When I asked the deaf people from Adamorobe what they thought about day visitors, sometimes they said that they had had enough of visitors:

neither deaf nor hearing people would be welcome in the future, whether they brought gifts or not. Other times people felt ambivalent about deaf visi- tors because “they are the same”. Also, sometimes it was said they would accept any person from whom they would get a huge donation. Thus, there were ambivalent feelings about visitors.

The above paragraph indicates that the problem is more complex than merely the absence of generous donations. Another reason for their suspi- cion and ambivalence is that the deaf people from Adamorobe expect visitors to return regularly and are disappointed that many people come only once.

When talking about foreigners who visited Adamorobe, the deaf people from Adamorobe always added: “never came back since then” and the expectation

“will come soon, you will see!”, even if the visit was decades ago. Often when people discussed my leaving Adamorobe, they said that they would not want a different researcher to come in the future: they wanted Nyst (the linguist) and I – who had learned their language and who had some understanding of their culture – to return over and over again (and to be generous to them).

Another thing deaf people in Adamorobe feel ambivalent about is pictures and recording. They are used to the fact that every white person comes to Adamorobe with a camera, and feel exploited: many pictures are taken and only very seldomly do they receive the prints. They sometimes encourage white visitors to record them, with the silent expectation of receiving some- thing in return. The deaf people realise that AdaSL is unique, that they have something that foreigners want, and are no longer willing to ‘sell it cheap’.

$OVRVRPHWLPHVWKH\DUHZRUULHGWKDWWKHSHRSOHPDNLQJ¿OPVDQGSLFWXUHV will show people outside Adamorobe ‘how dirty and poor Adamorobe is’

(while they themselves are proud of their village).

Secondly, besides the interest in Adamorobe as an exotic and special loca- tion, the notion of deaf people (especially in developing countries) as ‘needy’

could bring (more) concerned visitors or project workers in the future. I heard from (or about) several people who ‘wanted to do something to help deaf people’ somewhere in Ghana or in a shared signing community (typi- cally in the form of a project rather than donations) and considered Adam- orobe as a potential site. Similarly, someone I know visited Desa Kolok in Bali for a few hours and told me that he had an interest in “how to empower

the deaf community or to help the language become more sophisticated,”

thus assuming that the deaf people in this village need empowerment and that the language they use is not ‘sophisticated’ enough. When I questioned him further, he replied:

I never did think I would want to have a project at Desa Kolok until I visited there. I truly believe this village needs help from Deaf people who want to empower them into successful community, to allow them to run everything themselves, instead of being observer and write a book about them.

The quote above is an example of how the line between empowerment and imperialism is very thin. Aid workers have attempted to start from a concept of deaf unity (i.e. ‘DEAFSAME’) that transcends national borders to promote a sense of Deaf identity or Deaf community, to resist or overcome the oppres- sion of the dominant hearing culture and pervasive focus on spoken language in non-Western locations. They typically assume that deaf people’s experi- ences of oppression are very similar around the world (but on a worse scale in ‘underdeveloped’ countries), leading them to apply Western frames and concepts to non-Western countries.

In Adamorobe, I learned how a development project to provide the deaf SHRSOHZLWKDFRUQPLOOWRPDNHWKHP¿QDQFLDOO\VHOIVXI¿FLHQWDVDFRPPX- nity (such as providing medical insurance and schooling for the deaf chil- dren) failed because its design did not suit the local dynamics. The deaf people in Adamorobe were not really motivated to work towards a collective IXQGIRUWKHEHQH¿WRIGHDISHRSOHWKHPDLQXQLWRIJURXSVWUXFWXULQJLVWKH (mostly hearing) family. Hence, in my opinion, ‘being an observer’ (such as DQDQWKURSRORJLVWLVWKH¿UVWVWHSEHIRUHHYHQFRQVLGHULQJVHWWLQJXSDGHDI related project in a shared signing community (and in other locations). The

¿UVWVWHSLVOHDUQLQJDERXWWKHFRQFHUQVRIWKHSHRSOHLQYROYHGWKHLUUHOD- tionship with hearing people (especially their families), local socio-historical processes, and where applicable, the history of other projects.

As a result of all these considerations, I have questioned whether I should anonymise the name and location of Adamorobe. The anonymisation of place names is less usual than the anonymisation of personal names but is still current and is in line with protecting individuals (Nespor 2000, Van der Geest 2003). Kisch (2004) and Marsaja (2008) have tried to anonymise the Al-Sayyid Bedouin and Bengkala, but other researchers have used the real names. Adamorobe was already well-known through Nyst’s (2007) work and is easy to locate on the Internet. Also, as mentioned above, there is poten- WLDOO\DSDWHUQDOLVWLFÀDYRXUWRWKHSUDFWLFHRIDQRQ\PLVDWLRQLIWKHSHRSOH involved in the research do not ask for it or do not agree with it (see also Van der Geest 2003).

I am not sure as to what extent a researcher who communicates openly about the location of the community she/he investigated, has the right or duty to discourage people from visiting this community, as this also would have WKHÀDYRXURIHWKLFDOSDWHUQDOLVPWRZDUGVERWKWKHYLVLWRUVDQGWKHFRPPX- nity in question. However, I believe that it is at least the responsibility of researchers to inform (or warn) potential visitors and project workers about WKHLUH[SHULHQFHVDQG¿QGLQJV

6. Conclusion

As an anthropologist in Adamorobe, my being deaf played a role in building a (research) relationship with the deaf villagers in Adamorobe: “WEDEAFSAME” was the discourse employed by them when discussing informed consent during the pilot visit, and one of the discourses that was prevalent during the remainder of the research. The research centred around the experience of being deaf, and my own deafness was incorporated into the ‘constructive negotiation’ of recurring themes of conversation. Not only were conversa- tions ‘affected’ by my deafness (which proved to be an asset), but my pres- ence as deaf white anthropologist in Adamorobe also caused researcher effects such as deaf people in the village being drawn to me as a magnet and apparently being more social and friendly with each other than usual.

My deafness and whiteness, and my status as the deaf people’s visitor, DOVR FDXVHG GLI¿FXOWLHV LQ FRQQHFWLQJ ZLWK KHDULQJ SHRSOH LQ$GDPRUREH both practically (auditorily) and ideologically (I was ‘owned’ by the deaf people). Furthermore, being white played an important role in requests to me for reciprocity (as well as to other visitors), deafness being pointed at as a meaningful factor for expecting more and requesting more, but, paradoxi- cally, also for expecting less. In short, my being deaf and my being white were factors that were strategically and ambiguously utilised in discourses.

These factors sometimes reinforced each other, sometimes worked in oppo- site directions, and were used in a complex interplay that was often impos- sible to disentangle.

Notes

1. Some of the members of my host family knew AdaSL, while with others I communicated in gesture or written English, or with one of the deaf people from Adamorobe acting as relay interpreter from AdaSL.

2. Personal communication with Victoria Nyst, 5 and 6 March 2009.

3. Since 1975, it is not permissible for deaf people in Adamorobe to marry each other, in order to avoid deaf offspring.

4. Another phenomenon, apparently also introduced by Foster, but maintained through the years, is the belief that gifts are linked to the church. If you go to the church and pray, you have the right to receive charity. Turned around, in the eyes of the deaf people this means that it is not worth attending the church if one does not receive gifts. This caused another researcher effect: church attendance was much higher when I was in Adamorobe (from an average of a few people to an average of 20 people weekly) despite my countless explanations that these were unrelated to each other.

5. It was often recalled how deaf people from Adamorobe who temporarily or permanently resided on their cocoa farms in other parts of Ghana felt disappointed to miss donations. During my research, a deaf woman from a cocoa farm came to Adamorobe for a funeral and did not want to leave until I would give her rice: while from my perspective the rice was a gift of reciprocity for the deaf people who resided in Adamorobe and participated in my research, she viewed it as her right to receive it.

6. http://www.signsofhopeinternational.org/media/video.php 7. A local dish made of milled corn.

8. Another local dish made of milled corn.

9. I deliberately used only 1/6th of the available funds for the business projects, starting modestly and foreseeing that the deaf people could build up their projects when successful. I did this on the advice from the NGO-expert, who warned me that not all microbusiness projects set up in Ghana are successful DQGWKDWWKH\DUHGLI¿FXOWWRPDLQWDLQ7KHUHPDLQGHURIWKHPRQH\ZLOOJR towards the education of the deaf children from Adamorobe whose parents cannot support them, and who are not sponsored by Signs of Hope.

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