The day is warm and sunny. Even this early Gracie is out lying on the deck, and Fern has staked her claim to the mat by the front door where the morning sun streams into the house. She is stretched out so all of her can feel the warmth. I must have instinctively known there was sun as I was up early, have read the papers, put on a wash and cleaned the table and chairs on the deck in anticipation of my company sitting outside to enjoy the day. My guess is they should arrive around noon.

We are most assuredly spoiled. When I was in Ghana, I made do with very little. Even though it was often over 100°, I didn’t even own a fan. I just sweated a lot. Going to bed still wet from my nightly shower was as close to air conditioning as I got. Coke was a treat as was a bar of Cadbury chocolate. Traveling even a few miles took forever in over-crowded mammy lorries or buses. I prayed for a window seat. The buses often smelled of goats or chickens, both of which were sometimes under the seats. Goats, however, were usually tied to the top with the luggage. It took close to four hours to go a hundred miles. From Accra, on the coast, to Bolga took 16 hours. It still does. Irons used charcoal for heat and bucket baths were common. I became an expert at bucket baths. I could wash my hair and all the rest of me then use the left over water to flush the toilet. I also became an expert at using public toilets with holes in the floor, and that dubious talent came into use more recently when I went to Morocco. When I was in college, we had pit stops, but they were more the result of a night of revelry than usual practice.

Ghanaians wasted nothing, and that was one of the most important lessons I learned. Bottles and cans were reused over and over. Sandals had retread tires for soles. Food from the market was wrapped in newspapers. My rice always came in a newspaper cone.

When I left Ghana, I vowed to remember I didn’t need much. A hand can opener works just as well and a broom can sweep a room clean. It has been forty years since that vow, and I have accumulated much, and those Ghanaian lessons have faded over the years. Now, though, for some odd reason, I find myself doing chores far more simply. I sweep the kitchen clean most mornings. My electric can opener died so I use the hand opener on those few cans which still require one. I use few dishes so I hand wash them every night. It gives me a small sense of satisfaction.

My life is getting simpler. I think it has to do with getting older. I need much less than I used to, but, no matter what, I can’t give up the air conditioner.

This entry was posted on June 27, 2011 at 9:11 am and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments.

Tags: Accra, Ghana, Peace Corps, Public toilet, recycle