After spending a night in Kumasi, where I spent hours catching up on the internet, a group of us started making our way north. We wanted to take our time because we couldn't do anything until the banks opened on Monday, so we stopped at the Boabeng Fiema Monkey Sanctuary outside of Techiman, in the Brong Ahafo region. The story behind this place is kind of fun. There was a hunter walking in the bush one day and he came upon a fetish that was being guarded by four monkeys - two Monas and two Black and White Colobus. The hunter took the fetish and the monkeys ran away. The next morning when he awoke, the monkeys were at his house in the village, guarding the fetish again. The hunter then consulted the fetish priest, who told him that the monkeys were the children of the fetish god. If they liked the monkeys, they should keep the fetish and treat the monkeys like fellow humans and protect them. The monkeys therefore live in peace with the villagers to this day. The come and hang out, mostly in the morning, and even get buried as humans when they die. So if you visit this place, there are monkeys running around every, somewhat similar to the way goats roam about all over the place in other Ghanaian villages.
The monkey cemetery was definitely the highlight of the tour. We were staying at the guest house in Boabeng that night and couldn't resist the urge to walk through the forest to the cemetery after dark to tell ghost stories. It was fantastic, and SOOO scary.
If you want to see pictures, I just put them on flickr.
Off to my site now...
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
W.W.G.D.? (What Would Gumby Do?)
The answer, of course, is be flexible. But I’ll get to that a bit further down. As of yesterday, I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. We swore our oaths in front of the Ambassador and our new Country Director at an awesome ceremony at one of the secondary schools in Kukurantumi. But more on that in a minute. I have to back up and tell a little about the last week or two.
The Ghanaian presidential election took place on Sunday. It was uneventful. There were a few disturbances in Greater Accra and in the Upper Volta, but nothing to be alarmed about. If recent history is any indicator, nothing more will happen. The results didn’t come out until Wednesday. The Ghanaian constitution dictates that a candidate must get more than 50% of the vote in order to be elected without a run-off. The NPP’s (the current party in power) Nana Akufo-Addo got just shy of 50%, which means he and the NDC’s (the previous party in power) John Atta-Mills will be in a run-off election on December 28. That’s bad news for me because it means I’ll have to stay at my site for both Christmas and New Year’s and face the holidays without my friends. I think I’m going to make stockings for Maria and Meagan (my neighbors) and have one of the tro drivers deliver them on Christmas. Other than that, all my plans have been shot to hell. C’est la vie.
Monday was our last day of home stay. It was kind of anti-climatic. While I was glad to feel like an adult again, leaving my family on Tuesday morning was very sad. They’ve been so good to me and I will miss them all. My host mom had matching dresses made for me and for her. It’s kind of ugly but it’s the thought that counts. There were a few tears shed and away I went, to stay with the other trainees in hotels until Swearing-In.
Monday was also a sad day for many of us because our friend, Phuong, decided to go back to the states. Sometimes the people we leave behind won’t let you leave so easily, and her family needs her. We’ll miss you, Phuong! Ice cold fantas won’t be the same without you here.
We finally got to meet our new country director this week as well. He came down a day or two before swearing-in to talk with us and with the PCVs who were having a conference nearby. After a time in the marines and a career as a lawyer, Mike joined the Peace Corps and served in Vanuatu. Immediately after service, he became the country director in Kiribati, an island nation in the Equatorial Pacific. Sadly, PC Kiribati was closed this year due to transportation issues (tiny coral islands spread far and wide). But with Bob leaving early to deal with his mom, Mike was transferred here as his replacement. I hope I’ll get to talk to him some more in the next couple years, but as I don’t plan on going to Accra anytime soon, it’ll have to wait.
I passed my LPI (language proficiency interview) with not only a passing grade, but a high one. In fact, the language trainers said I was their best student in this training class. Woohoo! I still feel like my Gonja skills are not nearly what they should be, but that’s what the first few months at site are for. Maybe I’ll be able to pick up some Dagbani too, as many of the people in my village are Dagombas who have moved to the Gonja land for work.
LPI and Tech Evaluation done, there was nothing to do but wait for Swearing-In. Friday was the big day. I had a fantastic dress made, as did several of the other trainees. I also had a bit of fun shaving the bat signal into Steve’s beard.
The Ambassador was present to administer the oath, as were a number of Ghanaian bigwigs. In addition to the formalities of the ceremony, we also had a few fun presentations. Each language group did something in their language. Meagan and I had a little skit prepared in Gonja. We were going to do a song, but Braimah’s sister passed away and he had to leave before he taught it too us. We did well though. Afterwards, we did our traditional drumming and dancing. I was one of the drummers – the one luckily enough to be wielding the giant cowbell. More cowbell! It was one of our better run-throughs, hot and sunny though it was. I got quite a sunburn just from the 15 minutes I spent out performing.
We received some awesome advice from Mike during his speech. He told us that whenever you find yourself having trouble, just ask yourself, “What Would Gumby Do?” Because flexibility is the key to the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer. He then gave all of us a miniature Gumby doll – how cool is that?! He also said that PCVs are the kind of people who look at the glass as half-full, the figure out a way to take a bath with it.
I decided early in the week that after swearing-in, once I would no longer see my host mother everyday, I could finally shave my head. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, especially after Kathryn and Julie did theirs last week. A number of factors led to this decision. I’m out of shampoo for one, and even if I wasn’t, it takes a lot of water to wash your hair and there’s not a whole lot of water in my village. At least not safe water. Also, it’s really hot in Africa. Really. I was also sick of my hair and as I’m starting a new life in a new place, now’s my chance to start fresh in the hair department. So sorry to all those who liked my hair. But the deed has been done. After the ceremony and dinner, all the new and old PCVs went to the For You Spot, our local hangout. We had told them to stock extra beer and bring more chairs and they did. The definitely made a killing off us last night. After a couple of beers helped get my courage up, I sat down at let my stylist go to work. Kevin started out with the clippers, but was helped along the way by several of my fellow new volunteers. It turned out surprisingly well. I got a lot of compliments on the shape of my skull. Few people can pull off the shaved look, but apparently I can.
But then, a few months here have skewed my perspective. A lot. What looks awesome to me could look horrible to you. Either way, it’s now much easier to bathe. And much cooler.
P.S. - I'm uploading all my pictures to flickr as I type. So check it out - http://www.flickr.com/photos/hannahefrank
The Ghanaian presidential election took place on Sunday. It was uneventful. There were a few disturbances in Greater Accra and in the Upper Volta, but nothing to be alarmed about. If recent history is any indicator, nothing more will happen. The results didn’t come out until Wednesday. The Ghanaian constitution dictates that a candidate must get more than 50% of the vote in order to be elected without a run-off. The NPP’s (the current party in power) Nana Akufo-Addo got just shy of 50%, which means he and the NDC’s (the previous party in power) John Atta-Mills will be in a run-off election on December 28. That’s bad news for me because it means I’ll have to stay at my site for both Christmas and New Year’s and face the holidays without my friends. I think I’m going to make stockings for Maria and Meagan (my neighbors) and have one of the tro drivers deliver them on Christmas. Other than that, all my plans have been shot to hell. C’est la vie.
Monday was our last day of home stay. It was kind of anti-climatic. While I was glad to feel like an adult again, leaving my family on Tuesday morning was very sad. They’ve been so good to me and I will miss them all. My host mom had matching dresses made for me and for her. It’s kind of ugly but it’s the thought that counts. There were a few tears shed and away I went, to stay with the other trainees in hotels until Swearing-In.
Monday was also a sad day for many of us because our friend, Phuong, decided to go back to the states. Sometimes the people we leave behind won’t let you leave so easily, and her family needs her. We’ll miss you, Phuong! Ice cold fantas won’t be the same without you here.
We finally got to meet our new country director this week as well. He came down a day or two before swearing-in to talk with us and with the PCVs who were having a conference nearby. After a time in the marines and a career as a lawyer, Mike joined the Peace Corps and served in Vanuatu. Immediately after service, he became the country director in Kiribati, an island nation in the Equatorial Pacific. Sadly, PC Kiribati was closed this year due to transportation issues (tiny coral islands spread far and wide). But with Bob leaving early to deal with his mom, Mike was transferred here as his replacement. I hope I’ll get to talk to him some more in the next couple years, but as I don’t plan on going to Accra anytime soon, it’ll have to wait.
I passed my LPI (language proficiency interview) with not only a passing grade, but a high one. In fact, the language trainers said I was their best student in this training class. Woohoo! I still feel like my Gonja skills are not nearly what they should be, but that’s what the first few months at site are for. Maybe I’ll be able to pick up some Dagbani too, as many of the people in my village are Dagombas who have moved to the Gonja land for work.
LPI and Tech Evaluation done, there was nothing to do but wait for Swearing-In. Friday was the big day. I had a fantastic dress made, as did several of the other trainees. I also had a bit of fun shaving the bat signal into Steve’s beard.
The Ambassador was present to administer the oath, as were a number of Ghanaian bigwigs. In addition to the formalities of the ceremony, we also had a few fun presentations. Each language group did something in their language. Meagan and I had a little skit prepared in Gonja. We were going to do a song, but Braimah’s sister passed away and he had to leave before he taught it too us. We did well though. Afterwards, we did our traditional drumming and dancing. I was one of the drummers – the one luckily enough to be wielding the giant cowbell. More cowbell! It was one of our better run-throughs, hot and sunny though it was. I got quite a sunburn just from the 15 minutes I spent out performing.
We received some awesome advice from Mike during his speech. He told us that whenever you find yourself having trouble, just ask yourself, “What Would Gumby Do?” Because flexibility is the key to the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer. He then gave all of us a miniature Gumby doll – how cool is that?! He also said that PCVs are the kind of people who look at the glass as half-full, the figure out a way to take a bath with it.
I decided early in the week that after swearing-in, once I would no longer see my host mother everyday, I could finally shave my head. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, especially after Kathryn and Julie did theirs last week. A number of factors led to this decision. I’m out of shampoo for one, and even if I wasn’t, it takes a lot of water to wash your hair and there’s not a whole lot of water in my village. At least not safe water. Also, it’s really hot in Africa. Really. I was also sick of my hair and as I’m starting a new life in a new place, now’s my chance to start fresh in the hair department. So sorry to all those who liked my hair. But the deed has been done. After the ceremony and dinner, all the new and old PCVs went to the For You Spot, our local hangout. We had told them to stock extra beer and bring more chairs and they did. The definitely made a killing off us last night. After a couple of beers helped get my courage up, I sat down at let my stylist go to work. Kevin started out with the clippers, but was helped along the way by several of my fellow new volunteers. It turned out surprisingly well. I got a lot of compliments on the shape of my skull. Few people can pull off the shaved look, but apparently I can.
But then, a few months here have skewed my perspective. A lot. What looks awesome to me could look horrible to you. Either way, it’s now much easier to bathe. And much cooler.
P.S. - I'm uploading all my pictures to flickr as I type. So check it out - http://www.flickr.com/photos/hannahefrank
Thursday, December 11, 2008
New Address
As I prepare to move North, please start sending anything you want to
send to me to my new address...
Hannah Frank, PCV
Peace Corps/Ghana
P.O. Box 962
Tamale, Northern Region
Ghana, West Africa
Stuff will still get to me if you send it to Accra, but it will get to
me quicker if you send it to Tamale (the PCVL only goes to pick up
mail in Accra once a month).
More later when I have more time on the internet.
Merry Christmas,
Hannah
send to me to my new address...
Hannah Frank, PCV
Peace Corps/Ghana
P.O. Box 962
Tamale, Northern Region
Ghana, West Africa
Stuff will still get to me if you send it to Accra, but it will get to
me quicker if you send it to Tamale (the PCVL only goes to pick up
mail in Accra once a month).
More later when I have more time on the internet.
Merry Christmas,
Hannah
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Another holiday weekend spent hugging a toilet
(I originally wrote this on Sunday but wasn't able to post it until today) The last few days have been spent in a fever induced stupor. As I mentioned in my last entry, I had what I thought was the flu on Wednesday. Turns out it was a little more than the flu – the PCMO said it was either malaria or dysentery. Though I have no background in medicine, I’m leaning towards dysentery. If it were malaria, I’d probably still be in bed. More on that in a minute. Let me expand upon the Thanksgiving festivities.
Though I’d had a temp of over 102 on Wednesday, I was feeling okay on Thursday morning. The original plan was for all of us to cook in the morning and get together for a potluck on Thanksgiving afternoon around 3 or 3.30. We were supposed to have the entire day off, seeing as it’s a major American holiday. However, on Wednesday night, half of the group got phone calls from our training director, saying that they would have to go to Accra on Thursday morning to open their bank accounts. Why this couldn’t be done on another day, or why they waited until the night before to tell them is beyond me. They were assured, however, that they would be back by noon.
B.S.
While I was feeling better, I wasn’t feeling so well that I wanted to go about making 60 apple pies (McDonald’s style pies, not big ones) all by my lonesome. So instead of starting in the early morning, I moseyed over to New Tafo to use the internet and what not, waiting for the others to return from Accra. I knew they wouldn’t be back by noon, but I wasn’t expecting them to arrive at 5.30 in the evening! By about 2, I resigned myself to making the pies alone and started peeling apples. Luckily, Kimmie and Andy took pity on me and came to help. Mame Esi was also instrumental in the pie making process (she is after all, a professional maker of meat pies and other tasty items). While she thought our filling was way to sweet, she liked the changes we made in her dough. Instead of Maggi (shrimp flavored bullion cubes), which she usually adds to the dough for her meat pies, we added sugar. By 5 o’clock, 60 steamy apple pies were being pulled from her big clay oven. We threw them in a box and headed to the spot (we were too pissed off to have the potluck at the PC office, so we went to our favorite spot in Kukurantumi and bribed Sister Grace to let us have a party there). I was instantly a hero. Half the people who were supposed to bring food couldn’t because they’d been in Accra all day. But when 60 warm apple pies walked through the door, the evening was salvaged.
The plus side of the trip to Accra was that we got some mail. And, joy of joys, even I got a letter. The stars aligned just right this week and the Thanksgiving card my granny sent actually arrived on Thanksgiving Day – something that never happens, even in the states. In the end it was a good Thanksgiving, even if by that time I was feeling too sick to eat anything.
Like I said, I had been feeling better early in the day but by Thursday evening, my stomach was rebelling again. When I finally left the Thanksgiving celebration, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball on my bed. I had no desire to go to session on Friday, especially when I woke up unable to control most of my bodily functions. But I knew that the PCMOs were coming to the hub office to give another talk, so I dragged myself out of bed and staggered to the taxi circle. When I got to the hub office, I went to lay in the sick bay to wait for the PCMOs to arrive. A few hours later I woke up completely drenched in sweat and every muscle in my body ached. According to the ancient celcius thermometer I found, my temperature was 39.3 (102.7). I lost count of how many times I went back and forth to the toilet. It was not fun. As I said earlier, when the PCMO finally got there, she decided that I had either dysentery or malaria and therefore gave me medicine for both. I got permission to spend the night in the sick bay, since there was a fan and a flush toilet. By about nine, my fever finally started to break, even though I was still having trouble keeping food down and keeping away from the bathroom.
I didn’t go home until last night but by this morning, it was like I had never been sick. I even ate all my breakfast! Braimah is convinced that it wasn’t dysentery, but simply too much yam fufu. Hmmm – interesting diagnosis. If eating yam fufu leads to dysentery-like symptoms, I’m screwed. That’s all they want to feed me at my site. I can’t wait to set up my kitchen.
On a happier note, I just heard a Christmas song on the radio. Even in Ghana, a few days after Thanksgiving is not too early to start with the carols.
Don't be surprised if you don't here from me until later next week. Things are getting very hectic in the run up to the election here and I want to avoid all the crazy crowds. In addition, everything will be closed and even taxis aren't running on election day (Sun, Dec. 7), so I won't be coming to use the internet. There are lots of plans and backup plans in place for our safety, so no worries, ya hear!
See you on the flip side. Next time I post, I will be done with training!
Though I’d had a temp of over 102 on Wednesday, I was feeling okay on Thursday morning. The original plan was for all of us to cook in the morning and get together for a potluck on Thanksgiving afternoon around 3 or 3.30. We were supposed to have the entire day off, seeing as it’s a major American holiday. However, on Wednesday night, half of the group got phone calls from our training director, saying that they would have to go to Accra on Thursday morning to open their bank accounts. Why this couldn’t be done on another day, or why they waited until the night before to tell them is beyond me. They were assured, however, that they would be back by noon.
B.S.
While I was feeling better, I wasn’t feeling so well that I wanted to go about making 60 apple pies (McDonald’s style pies, not big ones) all by my lonesome. So instead of starting in the early morning, I moseyed over to New Tafo to use the internet and what not, waiting for the others to return from Accra. I knew they wouldn’t be back by noon, but I wasn’t expecting them to arrive at 5.30 in the evening! By about 2, I resigned myself to making the pies alone and started peeling apples. Luckily, Kimmie and Andy took pity on me and came to help. Mame Esi was also instrumental in the pie making process (she is after all, a professional maker of meat pies and other tasty items). While she thought our filling was way to sweet, she liked the changes we made in her dough. Instead of Maggi (shrimp flavored bullion cubes), which she usually adds to the dough for her meat pies, we added sugar. By 5 o’clock, 60 steamy apple pies were being pulled from her big clay oven. We threw them in a box and headed to the spot (we were too pissed off to have the potluck at the PC office, so we went to our favorite spot in Kukurantumi and bribed Sister Grace to let us have a party there). I was instantly a hero. Half the people who were supposed to bring food couldn’t because they’d been in Accra all day. But when 60 warm apple pies walked through the door, the evening was salvaged.
The plus side of the trip to Accra was that we got some mail. And, joy of joys, even I got a letter. The stars aligned just right this week and the Thanksgiving card my granny sent actually arrived on Thanksgiving Day – something that never happens, even in the states. In the end it was a good Thanksgiving, even if by that time I was feeling too sick to eat anything.
Like I said, I had been feeling better early in the day but by Thursday evening, my stomach was rebelling again. When I finally left the Thanksgiving celebration, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball on my bed. I had no desire to go to session on Friday, especially when I woke up unable to control most of my bodily functions. But I knew that the PCMOs were coming to the hub office to give another talk, so I dragged myself out of bed and staggered to the taxi circle. When I got to the hub office, I went to lay in the sick bay to wait for the PCMOs to arrive. A few hours later I woke up completely drenched in sweat and every muscle in my body ached. According to the ancient celcius thermometer I found, my temperature was 39.3 (102.7). I lost count of how many times I went back and forth to the toilet. It was not fun. As I said earlier, when the PCMO finally got there, she decided that I had either dysentery or malaria and therefore gave me medicine for both. I got permission to spend the night in the sick bay, since there was a fan and a flush toilet. By about nine, my fever finally started to break, even though I was still having trouble keeping food down and keeping away from the bathroom.
I didn’t go home until last night but by this morning, it was like I had never been sick. I even ate all my breakfast! Braimah is convinced that it wasn’t dysentery, but simply too much yam fufu. Hmmm – interesting diagnosis. If eating yam fufu leads to dysentery-like symptoms, I’m screwed. That’s all they want to feed me at my site. I can’t wait to set up my kitchen.
On a happier note, I just heard a Christmas song on the radio. Even in Ghana, a few days after Thanksgiving is not too early to start with the carols.
Don't be surprised if you don't here from me until later next week. Things are getting very hectic in the run up to the election here and I want to avoid all the crazy crowds. In addition, everything will be closed and even taxis aren't running on election day (Sun, Dec. 7), so I won't be coming to use the internet. There are lots of plans and backup plans in place for our safety, so no worries, ya hear!
See you on the flip side. Next time I post, I will be done with training!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Site visit and more
Once again, it’s been a long time since I last wrote and a lot of exciting things have happened since I last made it online. Forgive me, therefore, if I’m somewhat long-winded today. There’s a lot to tell.
I’ll start with the Sunday before last. My host family invited me to a wedding in Koforidua – one of Mame Esi’s nieces was the bride. They wanted me to have a dress made for the occasion, something I was more than happy to do, as I need some formal Ghanaian wear for swearing-in as well. However, because of the financial crunch we’re under, we weren’t paid our allowance the previous week and I didn’t have the money to buy the cloth until the Friday before the wedding. As good as Ghanaian seamstresses are, that’s not enough time to have a nice dress made.
The solution – my family played “dress up the obroni.” I was going to wear the dress I had worn to the Ambassador’s function the first week of training but Mame Esi said it wasn’t formal enough and lent me this fantastic sequined number. I looked absolutely ridiculous but all the old ladies kept on telling me how beautiful it was.
The festivities began at about 6 am. Members of the family traveling from Old Tafo started gathering at our house, eating breakfast and making sure everyone looked nice, from me down to little Kofi. A rented tro then pulled up at about 8 am to ferry us all to Koforidua. I asked what time we would be back, as I had to pack that night for the trip I was leaving on the next day, and Ama said 3 or 4. I shouldn’t have taken this to actually mean 3 or 4, knowing that time is completely relevant when church is involved. But more on that later.
I didn’t realize that weddings could be so traumatic. I thought the church services, which are regularly around three or four hours in length, were bad enough, but add five times as many people and lots of wedding traditions and it was ten times as long. And very, very loud. There was a full two hours of dancing and worship before the bride and groom even arrived. Everything was said in both Twi and Ewe, neither of which I can speak, making the whole thing that much more frustrating. I had no idea what was going on for most of the day. And instead of a billion bridesmaids and one pastor as you might find in an American wedding, there was once maid of honor and TWENTY officiating ministers.
As if I didn’t feel out of place enough, come noon, my sister Emma pulled me out of the church because it was time for me to take my lunch. So even though I wasn’t hungry, she took me across town to get some banku and okra stew and then we sat in this random relative’s house awkwardly for about an hour, watching football and waiting for Mame Esi to call us back to the church. When we eventually got back we sat for another two or three hours of frivolity. After the ceremony was finally over, we boarded the tro again to go to another facility for the refreshment – another couple of hours of formalities, this time with food and drink, and lots of shoving in the line for said food and drinks. It was nearly dark by the time we escaped and when I finally returned I went to Phuong’s house to relax with an ice-cold Fanta before heading back to my house to pack.
The next day after language class we were supposed to have all our bags packed for our site visit. They suggested that we bring as much of our stuff with us as possible because we would have our counterparts with us to help on the trip up to our individual sites. I took everything except for my computer, mandolin, and a few small items. Most of this would get left at my new home when I came back to Old Tafo for the last few weeks of training.
Before heading out for out weeklong site visit, we had a three day workshop with our counterparts and supervisors. We were hosted by the Bunso Cocoa College, not far from Old Tafo. I knew my counterpart was female but I wasn’t expecting the cute little 4’9” lady who walked up to me and introduced herself. Madam Hawa is awesome. Not only does she make me feel tall, but she also reminds me a lot of my host mom. She too is a baker, had a big family, and treats me like her own daughter. And tiny though she is, she was a big help in getting my massive amount of stuff onto the bus to Fufulso.
The workshop itself was torturous. It was primarily meant to help the counterparts understand their role in Peace Corps but we trainees had to sit through the whole thing, even though most of the information was stuff we’d already had drilled into our heads in the past month and a half. But you gotta do what you gotta do. On Thursday morning, we all went our separate ways to visit our new homes for the next two years. Those of us heading to the Tamale area we able to get on the STC bus from Accra (kind of like Greyhound – the high class way to travel in Ghana, complete with air conditioning and Nigerian movies). There were a few delays getting there but I eventually got to Fufulso late that night. Because my village is on the main truck route between Tamale and Kumasi, I was able to have the bus stop for just a moment and let me alight just a few hundred yards from my door. We had to wake my landlord up to let me into my room, where I passed out from the weariness of the road.
The next morning I had my introduction to the village. First order of business was to greet the chief of course. Or chiefs I should say. The community I live in is actually two separate villages that have merged into one – Fufulso and Junction. There are therefore two separate chiefs, both of which I had to greet. I waited for them to assemble their elders, then went with Madam Hawa and my landlord (who is the District Assemblyman for the community) to the Junction chief’s palace followed by the Fufulso chief’s palace (though by palace I mean it was more like a weathered mud-brick compound – we are in Africa after all). Those formalities aside, I was taken to meet the police captain then the school teachers. The teachers we kind enough to allow me access to their personal facilities for the week – my latrine is still under construction so they gave me the key to their latrine at the school for my private use. And so everyone would know they weren’t to use it, they added some words in chalk to the outside of the building – STRICTLY FOR USE BY U.N. PEACE CORP VOLUNTEER ONLY BY ORDER. Subtle, huh? I can’t wait until my latrine is down, so that I won’t have to walk across down and through the school yard to relieve myself.
Other than the lack of a complete latrine, my accommodations are very nice, particularly by Peace Corps standards. Like I said, I live in the Assemblyman’s compound, which is the nicest building in town. I have two rooms and a porch to myself. One room has been furnished as a bedroom and even decorated. I have the most fantastic color scheme going on – green walls, a blue floor, and bright pink sheets on the bed. So wonderfully colorful. I’m going to have to replace the curtains – I’m not digging the laciness as much as the rest of the room. The other room is a blank canvas. I’m going to make it my living room/kitchen. The carpenter was supposed to visit me while I was there but didn’t make it before I left. I want to have him make me a couch and some shelves, so I have somewhere to put the ten million books/manuals that PC has given us since we’ve been here, as well as a place for my clothes. My only problem right now is how to get the two-year-old daughter of my landlord to stop screaming in terror every time she sees me.
The water situation in my village is pretty bad. Several NGOs have tried to put in boreholes, but without success. The water table is too deep or something along those lines. Most people use hand-dug wells in the wet season, but these dry up pretty quickly and not long into the dry season, the sole source of water is the dam, favorite hiding place of guinea worm and other fantastic diseases and parasites. Madam Hawa told me that the year before last, even the dam dried up by the end of the dry season and the people where forced to go all the way to Yapei to fetch water. So I’m going to have my hands full here. The beautiful tin roof at the school looks perfect for a rainwater collection system. The only one I’ve seen in town is the one at my house – my landlord built a giant concrete collection tank in the middle of the courtyard. It’ll hold about 50 barrels (about 2800 gallons?) – more than enough for the needs of myself, my landlord, and his wife and child. Let me put this into a little perspective for you. Everything you take a dump, the flush of your toilet uses at least a couple of gallons. Some older toilets will use as much as 6 or 7. The average Ghanaian uses about a bucket a day. Even as a heavy water user by Ghanaian standards, unless I’m doing wash I rarely use more than 2 buckets, or about 8 gallons. And I take two baths a day.
The one semi-productive thing I did while at site was to visit a village with Maria and several of the Carter Center volunteers to do a Guinea Worm program one night. We drove two hours into the bush until we got to this tiny village that is still having trouble with the worm. It was nice to get to know some of the people I’ll be working with. Maria is the only other PCV in my district and because she’s only about 15 km from me, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.
I can’t wait until I have my kitchen set up. The food situation was absolutely ridiculous this week. Because I didn’t have anyway to cook for myself while I was visiting, Madam Hawa wanted to make sure I was eating. So even though the Assemblyman’s wife was cooking me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Madam kept make me lunch and dinner too. Now I like Ghanaian food, but not so much that I want to eat five meals a day. But when someone goes to the trouble to pound fufu for you, you are obliged to eat it. I’m pretty sure I gained about 10 pounds in the few days I was there. Bleh.
I didn’t really do much while I was there – just met a bunch of people whose names I can’t remember and started the slow process of finally settling in somewhere. I even set up my hammock on the porch. The about halfway through my visit, I came to the conclusion that it kind of rocks having two chiefs. One of the Fufulso elders came by one even with a giant bag and a rooster, saying “Chief said to bring you these yams and this cock.” It was a beautiful rooster and looked very tasty too. I thanked him for his welcome gift and was only sitting a few minutes before one of the Junction elders arrived, also with a bundle of yams and another rooster. After all, two cocks are better than one (sorry Granny, I couldn’t resist being obscene – it’s better to giggle as I type this than to laugh when someone hands me such an expensive gift). Madam Hawa’s son slaughtered one of them for my dinner the last night I was there, then killed and smoked the other one to take with me on the trip back to Old Tafo.
Instead of taking the STC bus (which is after all expensive), we decided to be economical and take tros to get back to Old Tafo. We didn’t want to get in late (and technically aren’t supposed to travel at night until after the election), so we only traveled as far as Kumasi on Tuesday, spent the night at the KSO (Kumasi Sub Office, which beats the socks off the Tamale Sub Office in terms of comfort and cleanliness), and continued on to Old Tafo in the morning. We even had a chance to get hamburgers while we were in Kumasi. While there were only 9 of us coming from the Northern Region, the PCTs from Upper East and Upper West were also staying at the KSO that night, so we were able to hire a whole tro to take us home. We got a great price.
Unfortunately for me, I was sick when I woke up on Wednesday morning. Yay for the flu! Diarrhea and a high fever = horrible companions on a three hour tro ride. By the time I got home, my temperature was 102.5. Tylenol brought that down a little but it was a horrible 24 hours.
I’m feeling much better this morning. My stomach is still a little funky but the fever is gone, relieving my fears that it was malaria. I can now look forward to tonight’s festivities. We’re having a Thanksgiving potluck at the hub office. That means it’s time for me to go now – I have 45 apples in my room, waiting to be peeled and made into pies. It rocks having a baker as a host mom! Happy Thanksgiving!
I’ll start with the Sunday before last. My host family invited me to a wedding in Koforidua – one of Mame Esi’s nieces was the bride. They wanted me to have a dress made for the occasion, something I was more than happy to do, as I need some formal Ghanaian wear for swearing-in as well. However, because of the financial crunch we’re under, we weren’t paid our allowance the previous week and I didn’t have the money to buy the cloth until the Friday before the wedding. As good as Ghanaian seamstresses are, that’s not enough time to have a nice dress made.
The solution – my family played “dress up the obroni.” I was going to wear the dress I had worn to the Ambassador’s function the first week of training but Mame Esi said it wasn’t formal enough and lent me this fantastic sequined number. I looked absolutely ridiculous but all the old ladies kept on telling me how beautiful it was.
The festivities began at about 6 am. Members of the family traveling from Old Tafo started gathering at our house, eating breakfast and making sure everyone looked nice, from me down to little Kofi. A rented tro then pulled up at about 8 am to ferry us all to Koforidua. I asked what time we would be back, as I had to pack that night for the trip I was leaving on the next day, and Ama said 3 or 4. I shouldn’t have taken this to actually mean 3 or 4, knowing that time is completely relevant when church is involved. But more on that later.
I didn’t realize that weddings could be so traumatic. I thought the church services, which are regularly around three or four hours in length, were bad enough, but add five times as many people and lots of wedding traditions and it was ten times as long. And very, very loud. There was a full two hours of dancing and worship before the bride and groom even arrived. Everything was said in both Twi and Ewe, neither of which I can speak, making the whole thing that much more frustrating. I had no idea what was going on for most of the day. And instead of a billion bridesmaids and one pastor as you might find in an American wedding, there was once maid of honor and TWENTY officiating ministers.
As if I didn’t feel out of place enough, come noon, my sister Emma pulled me out of the church because it was time for me to take my lunch. So even though I wasn’t hungry, she took me across town to get some banku and okra stew and then we sat in this random relative’s house awkwardly for about an hour, watching football and waiting for Mame Esi to call us back to the church. When we eventually got back we sat for another two or three hours of frivolity. After the ceremony was finally over, we boarded the tro again to go to another facility for the refreshment – another couple of hours of formalities, this time with food and drink, and lots of shoving in the line for said food and drinks. It was nearly dark by the time we escaped and when I finally returned I went to Phuong’s house to relax with an ice-cold Fanta before heading back to my house to pack.
The next day after language class we were supposed to have all our bags packed for our site visit. They suggested that we bring as much of our stuff with us as possible because we would have our counterparts with us to help on the trip up to our individual sites. I took everything except for my computer, mandolin, and a few small items. Most of this would get left at my new home when I came back to Old Tafo for the last few weeks of training.
Before heading out for out weeklong site visit, we had a three day workshop with our counterparts and supervisors. We were hosted by the Bunso Cocoa College, not far from Old Tafo. I knew my counterpart was female but I wasn’t expecting the cute little 4’9” lady who walked up to me and introduced herself. Madam Hawa is awesome. Not only does she make me feel tall, but she also reminds me a lot of my host mom. She too is a baker, had a big family, and treats me like her own daughter. And tiny though she is, she was a big help in getting my massive amount of stuff onto the bus to Fufulso.
The workshop itself was torturous. It was primarily meant to help the counterparts understand their role in Peace Corps but we trainees had to sit through the whole thing, even though most of the information was stuff we’d already had drilled into our heads in the past month and a half. But you gotta do what you gotta do. On Thursday morning, we all went our separate ways to visit our new homes for the next two years. Those of us heading to the Tamale area we able to get on the STC bus from Accra (kind of like Greyhound – the high class way to travel in Ghana, complete with air conditioning and Nigerian movies). There were a few delays getting there but I eventually got to Fufulso late that night. Because my village is on the main truck route between Tamale and Kumasi, I was able to have the bus stop for just a moment and let me alight just a few hundred yards from my door. We had to wake my landlord up to let me into my room, where I passed out from the weariness of the road.
The next morning I had my introduction to the village. First order of business was to greet the chief of course. Or chiefs I should say. The community I live in is actually two separate villages that have merged into one – Fufulso and Junction. There are therefore two separate chiefs, both of which I had to greet. I waited for them to assemble their elders, then went with Madam Hawa and my landlord (who is the District Assemblyman for the community) to the Junction chief’s palace followed by the Fufulso chief’s palace (though by palace I mean it was more like a weathered mud-brick compound – we are in Africa after all). Those formalities aside, I was taken to meet the police captain then the school teachers. The teachers we kind enough to allow me access to their personal facilities for the week – my latrine is still under construction so they gave me the key to their latrine at the school for my private use. And so everyone would know they weren’t to use it, they added some words in chalk to the outside of the building – STRICTLY FOR USE BY U.N. PEACE CORP VOLUNTEER ONLY BY ORDER. Subtle, huh? I can’t wait until my latrine is down, so that I won’t have to walk across down and through the school yard to relieve myself.
Other than the lack of a complete latrine, my accommodations are very nice, particularly by Peace Corps standards. Like I said, I live in the Assemblyman’s compound, which is the nicest building in town. I have two rooms and a porch to myself. One room has been furnished as a bedroom and even decorated. I have the most fantastic color scheme going on – green walls, a blue floor, and bright pink sheets on the bed. So wonderfully colorful. I’m going to have to replace the curtains – I’m not digging the laciness as much as the rest of the room. The other room is a blank canvas. I’m going to make it my living room/kitchen. The carpenter was supposed to visit me while I was there but didn’t make it before I left. I want to have him make me a couch and some shelves, so I have somewhere to put the ten million books/manuals that PC has given us since we’ve been here, as well as a place for my clothes. My only problem right now is how to get the two-year-old daughter of my landlord to stop screaming in terror every time she sees me.
The water situation in my village is pretty bad. Several NGOs have tried to put in boreholes, but without success. The water table is too deep or something along those lines. Most people use hand-dug wells in the wet season, but these dry up pretty quickly and not long into the dry season, the sole source of water is the dam, favorite hiding place of guinea worm and other fantastic diseases and parasites. Madam Hawa told me that the year before last, even the dam dried up by the end of the dry season and the people where forced to go all the way to Yapei to fetch water. So I’m going to have my hands full here. The beautiful tin roof at the school looks perfect for a rainwater collection system. The only one I’ve seen in town is the one at my house – my landlord built a giant concrete collection tank in the middle of the courtyard. It’ll hold about 50 barrels (about 2800 gallons?) – more than enough for the needs of myself, my landlord, and his wife and child. Let me put this into a little perspective for you. Everything you take a dump, the flush of your toilet uses at least a couple of gallons. Some older toilets will use as much as 6 or 7. The average Ghanaian uses about a bucket a day. Even as a heavy water user by Ghanaian standards, unless I’m doing wash I rarely use more than 2 buckets, or about 8 gallons. And I take two baths a day.
The one semi-productive thing I did while at site was to visit a village with Maria and several of the Carter Center volunteers to do a Guinea Worm program one night. We drove two hours into the bush until we got to this tiny village that is still having trouble with the worm. It was nice to get to know some of the people I’ll be working with. Maria is the only other PCV in my district and because she’s only about 15 km from me, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.
I can’t wait until I have my kitchen set up. The food situation was absolutely ridiculous this week. Because I didn’t have anyway to cook for myself while I was visiting, Madam Hawa wanted to make sure I was eating. So even though the Assemblyman’s wife was cooking me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Madam kept make me lunch and dinner too. Now I like Ghanaian food, but not so much that I want to eat five meals a day. But when someone goes to the trouble to pound fufu for you, you are obliged to eat it. I’m pretty sure I gained about 10 pounds in the few days I was there. Bleh.
I didn’t really do much while I was there – just met a bunch of people whose names I can’t remember and started the slow process of finally settling in somewhere. I even set up my hammock on the porch. The about halfway through my visit, I came to the conclusion that it kind of rocks having two chiefs. One of the Fufulso elders came by one even with a giant bag and a rooster, saying “Chief said to bring you these yams and this cock.” It was a beautiful rooster and looked very tasty too. I thanked him for his welcome gift and was only sitting a few minutes before one of the Junction elders arrived, also with a bundle of yams and another rooster. After all, two cocks are better than one (sorry Granny, I couldn’t resist being obscene – it’s better to giggle as I type this than to laugh when someone hands me such an expensive gift). Madam Hawa’s son slaughtered one of them for my dinner the last night I was there, then killed and smoked the other one to take with me on the trip back to Old Tafo.
Instead of taking the STC bus (which is after all expensive), we decided to be economical and take tros to get back to Old Tafo. We didn’t want to get in late (and technically aren’t supposed to travel at night until after the election), so we only traveled as far as Kumasi on Tuesday, spent the night at the KSO (Kumasi Sub Office, which beats the socks off the Tamale Sub Office in terms of comfort and cleanliness), and continued on to Old Tafo in the morning. We even had a chance to get hamburgers while we were in Kumasi. While there were only 9 of us coming from the Northern Region, the PCTs from Upper East and Upper West were also staying at the KSO that night, so we were able to hire a whole tro to take us home. We got a great price.
Unfortunately for me, I was sick when I woke up on Wednesday morning. Yay for the flu! Diarrhea and a high fever = horrible companions on a three hour tro ride. By the time I got home, my temperature was 102.5. Tylenol brought that down a little but it was a horrible 24 hours.
I’m feeling much better this morning. My stomach is still a little funky but the fever is gone, relieving my fears that it was malaria. I can now look forward to tonight’s festivities. We’re having a Thanksgiving potluck at the hub office. That means it’s time for me to go now – I have 45 apples in my room, waiting to be peeled and made into pies. It rocks having a baker as a host mom! Happy Thanksgiving!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
On making it through another week
Another long week has passed. It’s been quite a drama-filled week too. The first trainee to go home left this week. I’m not going to go into the details – we’re all pretty bummed to see him go. The moral of his tale is don’t get involved with members of your host family. I think I’ll just leave it at that.
The other major issue I had to deal with this week was the lack of funds in the Peace Corps coffers. The budget for Peace Corps/Ghana has not been increased in several years, despite inflation and the rising cost of food and transportation. So when PC needs to give us our weekly allowance, the cash is not always there. We were supposed to get paid last Friday but no money was sent up from Accra. We ended up having to wait until this Friday to get our $2/day. Now, I know we’re supposed to be living near the poverty line and all, but I find it incredibly irritating that they just didn’t give us anything at all for an entire week. Luckily we get our meals for free during training. But there are other expenses that simply can’t be avoided. Take toilet paper. One roll is 40 pesawas (100 pesawas=1 cedi). That’s more than the cost of a taxi to New Tafo. So when I found myself facing the choice of either getting to the Hub Office to maybe get paid or buying something soft with which to wipe, it was difficult to decide. It’s a good thing I had a lot of notebook paper lying around.
On the plus side, Marion and Alan returned yesterday. Marion’s mother passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago, so PC sent her home for two weeks. Her husband Alan went with her. They confirmed their awesomeness by bringing freshly baked cookies and several newspapers and magazines with them when they returned. Marion said she’d help me with baking the pies for our Thanksgiving potluck (since I live with the baker, I’m lucky enough to have access to an oven). I think we’re going to go with chicken instead of turkey, since turkeys are so expensive and we’re all broke. There has been talk of a roast pig though - one of the environment volunteers is staying with a pig farmer. Of course, that may just be wishful thinking.
Monday we’ll be meeting our counterparts, who are coming to town for a workshop. Then we’ll all go with them to our individual sites. I’m planning on taking as much of my stuff as possible with me, as I’ll have my counterpart to help me. After that, there’s just two weeks more of training before we swear in. Fun times.
Okay, I have to go to Addo Nkwanta now – the environment PCTs are having a cross-sector demonstration for us. As we say in Gonja, “To, kamanto!” (“We’ll meet again!”).
PS – Here’s a funny anecdote I have to share. I was walking down the path with one of the Ghanaian trainers when she says to me, “Wow, look at that huge cock!” She was of course speaking of the big rooster standing on a porch nearby, but I couldn’t help but laugh on hearing these words come from an elderly woman’s mouth.
The other major issue I had to deal with this week was the lack of funds in the Peace Corps coffers. The budget for Peace Corps/Ghana has not been increased in several years, despite inflation and the rising cost of food and transportation. So when PC needs to give us our weekly allowance, the cash is not always there. We were supposed to get paid last Friday but no money was sent up from Accra. We ended up having to wait until this Friday to get our $2/day. Now, I know we’re supposed to be living near the poverty line and all, but I find it incredibly irritating that they just didn’t give us anything at all for an entire week. Luckily we get our meals for free during training. But there are other expenses that simply can’t be avoided. Take toilet paper. One roll is 40 pesawas (100 pesawas=1 cedi). That’s more than the cost of a taxi to New Tafo. So when I found myself facing the choice of either getting to the Hub Office to maybe get paid or buying something soft with which to wipe, it was difficult to decide. It’s a good thing I had a lot of notebook paper lying around.
On the plus side, Marion and Alan returned yesterday. Marion’s mother passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago, so PC sent her home for two weeks. Her husband Alan went with her. They confirmed their awesomeness by bringing freshly baked cookies and several newspapers and magazines with them when they returned. Marion said she’d help me with baking the pies for our Thanksgiving potluck (since I live with the baker, I’m lucky enough to have access to an oven). I think we’re going to go with chicken instead of turkey, since turkeys are so expensive and we’re all broke. There has been talk of a roast pig though - one of the environment volunteers is staying with a pig farmer. Of course, that may just be wishful thinking.
Monday we’ll be meeting our counterparts, who are coming to town for a workshop. Then we’ll all go with them to our individual sites. I’m planning on taking as much of my stuff as possible with me, as I’ll have my counterpart to help me. After that, there’s just two weeks more of training before we swear in. Fun times.
Okay, I have to go to Addo Nkwanta now – the environment PCTs are having a cross-sector demonstration for us. As we say in Gonja, “To, kamanto!” (“We’ll meet again!”).
PS – Here’s a funny anecdote I have to share. I was walking down the path with one of the Ghanaian trainers when she says to me, “Wow, look at that huge cock!” She was of course speaking of the big rooster standing on a porch nearby, but I couldn’t help but laugh on hearing these words come from an elderly woman’s mouth.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
The Field Trip Fiasco, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Dirt Roads
It’s been an exciting few weeks for me. After a busy week of more language and more technical training, Halloween kind of snuck up on us. We had intended to have a big party, with costumes and more, but the following morning we would have to be on a bus at 5.30 to head north for our sector-specific field trip. We had to settle for a couple of hours at our favorite local spot, with a few impromptu costumes thrown in (and lots of funny looks from the few non-Americans who happened to be there).
The big story I have to tell is that of the field trip itself. We’re now halfway through training and the Peace Corps wanted each sector to travel together to get some more hands-on practice amongst current volunteers. The Environment crew head to the Upper West region, while SED (Small Enterprise Development) went to a site not far from Kukurantumi in the Lower Volta. WATSAN however is a larger group and is somewhat divided from within between those assigned to the Northern Region to on work primarily on Guinea Worm Eradication (that’s me) and those going to the Nkwanta District in Upper Volta to work more closely on Health and Hygiene. We therefore divided into two groups for field trip, with those of us assigned to the north going to a site not far from Tamale and the others going to Nkwanta.
The problem with this plan was that WATSAN had the same budget as the other two sectors even though we were doing two separate trips. We were told we would have to make due with just one car for both groups as Peace Corps couldn’t afford to give us two. Here’s the thing – while if you look at a map, it’s technically shorter mileage wise to go from Kukurantumi to Tamale through the Volta Region than it is to go through Kumasi, the roads in Upper Volta are ABSOLUTE SHIT. It actually ends up taking a lot longer to go through the Volta, unless you have a private car. We were in a privately hired tro, but not one that was equipped to handle dirt roads of this level. But we had to go this way anyway, so that we could drop off the Nkwanta group before heading farther north.
When Martin (are technical trainer) gave us the schedule for the trip, I laughed. He had us scheduled to arrive in Tamale at 4 pm. Having already traveled in the Nkwanta training during Vision Quest, I knew that it would take AT LEAST seven or eight hours just to get to Nkwanta, and that was only halfway. Even though we left close to on time on Saturday morning, we didn’t get to Nkwanta until about 3 or 3.30. We had taken way too much time to eat lunch in Hohoe due to Martin’s insistence that we eat at a restaurant instead of a chop bar (Ghanaian fast food). After we dropped the others, we continued on towards Tamale, covered in dust already and getting hungry again. What we didn’t know was that we wouldn’t arrive in Tamale until 10 pm, and it was another hour from there to get to the place we’d be staying the night. Let me just say that traveling down dirt roads late at night is not a pleasant experience, no matter where you are.
I had a cool person sitting next to me for most of the ride – Sub Chief Larry, one of my new neighbors once I get to site. He’s an older volunteer, working as a SED PCV in Daboya, northwest of Tamale. Because he’s older and male, he gets a lot more respect from his community that I can ever hope to get. They even went so far as to enstool him as a sub chief. He’s also one of the few PCVs who has studied Gonja, so we talked about that and my extensive plans for cooking once I have a place to set up a kitchen. I get the impression he’ll be visiting me a lot after all the tasty meals I described. How many of you can say that you’ve entertained royalty?
Anyway, by the time we reached Tamale, we were all orange from the dust, absolutely starving, and ready to pass out. Unfortunately, we couldn’t stop at the Tamale Sub Office (TSO) – all the sleeping mats had already been moved to Mike’s site (where we’d be staying) and our meal had already been paid for and prepared by his Assemblyman’s wife. We had to continue. Back on the bus we went and a little over an hour later we finally pulled in for the night. After we got some cold TZ in our bellies (think really thick grits smushed into balls and eaten with peanut soup) and actual showers thanks to Mike’s polytank, we sprawled out in his courtyard with a couple of mosquito coils and called it a night.
The actual bulk of the trip was pretty cool. We spent time with a few different volunteers, helping with their projects and seeing their sites. We played a football (soccer) match against the town team at Shawn’s site as part of an AIDS education thing, but Martin had failed to mention we’d be playing, so we had to play in our Chacos. I wiped out at one point, much to the delight of the three hundred some-odd children standing along the sidelines. We also learned a lot about the Guinea Worm projects, even taking samples of the dam water in Savelugu and going house to house inspecting and replacing filters. We spent the last day at Johnnie’s site, which is somewhat close to my own (which I’ve yet to see).
We tried working out someway we could go home by a different route, but another vehicle could not be found (or, more likely, they just didn’t want to pay for one). We HAD to go back the way we’d come to get the others. Instead of staying at Johnnie’s site again like we were supposed to on our last night, we headed to the TSO after dinner, so that we could get a head start and leave at 4.30 on Wednesday morning. (We also had the slight ulterior motive of wanting to be at the TSO so we’d be able to look up election results on the computer as they came in). We ended up passing out pretty early though, since we knew we’d have a long day on Wednesday. Inez called me at 3 am to give me the news about Obama (woohoo) and the day began with a slight boast, a boast that was soon shot down by many long hours of bumpy, dusty roads. About 2 hours in, the clutch on the tro started going out, and every time we stopped to let someone pee in the bush, it would take us 20 minutes to get going again. As we had discovered the previous evening, the vehicle was actually infested with cockroaches – the little baby ones that are so annoying were crawling over everything, including our legs. I didn’t know that cockroaches bite but these ones did. Eck. The similarity to Little Miss Sunshine was striking, as the bus was yellow and our crew a motley one. Fortunately, unlike the movie, we had no dead grandfather to deal with – just a bunch of very irritated Peace Corps Trainees, including one slightly OCD nurse.
By the time we limped into Nkwanta, I thought people were going to strangle Martin (he had stayed behind with the Nkwanta group while Braimah went north with us). We stopped at the guesthouse the others had been staying at while the driver (the poor guy who’d been with us the whole time) went to “fix” the clutch. No amount of caffeinated beverages or cookies could make us feel better. Then JJ had a brilliant idea – why not turn the last half of the ride into a celebration?! Just as any celebration in Ghana isn’t complete without the traditional pouring of libations, so was our trip in complete without libations of our own. Mixing gin and tampico (think Sunny D) in a nalgene bottle and passing it around amongst the group may not sound very good to you; it might even sound nauseating. But to us, it was heavenily. And more importantly, it allowed us to indure the final leg of our journey – dust, roaches, and all. Because we decided not to stop for meals, instead buying food on the road along the way, we made it back to Old Tafo in slightly less time than it had taken to get to Tamale. After leaving at 4.30, I finally got back to my house at 9.30 in the evening. I’ve never seen my host mom’s eyes so big. The first thing she said to me after “Welcome Home!” was “I will get you water for your bath.” I was absolutely disgusting. It took me several hours to wash all the clothing the next morning, even with help from my sister (who was nice enough to even wash my backpack and pack pillow for me). I almost feel human again today.
I decided to forgo going to Koforidua with the group today. A bunch of people wanted to visit the Bead Market that is held there every Thursday. I had found time to go last week, so I didn’t really feel up to it. I did however get Kymberly to look for some earring for me, to match the new Ghanaian dress I just had made by Consuelo’s host mom.
A note on beads. One of the things women do with beads here is tie strings of the little ones around the waist. I’ve heard someone say that one reason is to keep track of weight, a reason I believe, especially when I see that every small child is wearing a string or two. But the interesting things about waist beads is that they are part of foreplay for Ghanaian women. Having waist beads exposed is somewhat similar to showing your thong in America. Good girls just don’t do it. As my host mom said to me, “Only let your husband see your beads.”
I bought a few strings when I was at the market last week. They were very cheap and most are beautiful. Being the UTD nerd that I am, however, I couldn’t resist buying a string of orange and green waist beads. Gotta have a little school spirit every now in then.
Okay, now I have to go prepare for tomorrow. Phuong and I are giving a presentation on Ghanaian pop music. Time to make a playlist….
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