Archive for June 2023
“When Peace Corps was first proposed, some in Congress assumed that only men would be volunteers.”
June 24, 2023We had a bit of rain last night and this morning. It left the air a bit humid. It is also quite warm, 70°. I have no plans to leave the house. I have a to do list, but the paper has yellowed.
I took off Nala’s cone. She was just so sad. I could see it in her eyes. Her head hung down, and she had trouble getting comfortable. Around the stitches looks great. She doesn’t bother them. She slept right beside me last night. All is well in Nala’s world.
My muse seems to be on vacation, perhaps beaten by the rain. I guess this will have to be a Ghana day, my favorite fallback.
My Peace Corps training was completely in Ghana. We started at a town called Winneba. I remember the first morning waking up and remembering I was in Africa. My dorm room was on the second floor. Outside my door I could see the tops of compounds and palm trees, my very first palm trees ever. Breakfast was coffee and rolls, a familiar breakfast. Lunch and dinner were Ghanaian foods, and I wasn’t a fan. Those first three weeks we had hours of language every day. Mine was Hausa. We got shots. We had a medical briefing. We greeted the chief as is the custom. Back then, Ashanti chiefs never spoke directly to people but spoke through linguists who carried staffs, indicators of their positions. The beginnings of my own adventures were when I went to town by myself a few times.
The next three weeks we lived with Ghanaian families who spoke the same languages we were learning. I lived in Bawku. I taught middle school for a week and still had language lessons but only after lunch which we ate together. My favorite time in Bawku was when I visited the compounds where the wives and small children lived. My father had four wives. I walked behind compounds on dirt pathways where I’d pass an outside class of boys sitting on the ground and learning the Koran. Their voices intoned. In the compound I sat and sometimes held babies. The toddlers were afraid of me. I remember a vulture walking around the main part of the compound. The wives made my meals there and sent them to the house. One vivid memory of Bawku is of us sitting around the radio listening to Voice of American and the moon landing.
For the next week we each went to our schools. I met the principal, set up a checking account, sort of moved into my house and roamed the market. I made note of what I needed in my house. I also left luggage and some clothes there so I’d have less to carry.
I’m going to stop there in Bolga to keep you on the edges of your seats. That leaves me with some weeks of training to write about when my muse takes another hike.
Living In The Moment: Jason Mraz
June 23, 2023One Moment In Time: Whitney Houston
June 23, 2023Leave A Tender Moment Alone: Billy Joel
June 23, 2023This Magic Moment: Jay and the Americans
June 23, 2023
“Sometimes I only fall in love with the moment itself – not the people or places in it.”
June 23, 2023Last night I just couldn’t fall asleep. It was light out before I lost consciousness. When I woke up, it was after 11. I chose a leisurely morning to welcome a pretty day. I read the papers and enjoyed a couple of cups of delicious coffee. It is already 72°, close to today’s high. The sky is blue, but clouds are expected though not rain.
I was looking at the class picture for my eighth grade graduation. The original was left rolled so it cracked. I had a copy made and mounted. We are sitting in rows in front of the convent, which is no longer there. Father Sexton, the pastor, also no longer there, is sitting in the middle. The boys are wearing jackets and ties. Except for one girl, we girls are wearing pouffy dresses. I think that might have been the last time I wore a pouffy dress. I had my hands posed in front of me, obviously a directive from the photographer. One boy has his head turned. Most of the boys aren’t smiling. Some girls are smiling but more look solemn. I have sort of a half smile. I don’t remember that day so I am glad for the picture. I remember most of the eighth grade just not that day.
I always wonder why certain days and even certain moments stay bright in my memory drawers. Some seem consequential while others seem to be just regular days or simple moments.
I don’t remember the ride to Logan on the day I left for Philadelphia to go to Peace Corps staging, but I clearly remember looking back at my parents as I walked into the jetway. My mother waved, a small wave. My father also waved but his was a bigger wave. I waved back and turned to walk onto the plane.
I remember one night in Philadelphia. I took my book and went to the top most floor of the hotel, sat with my back against the wall and read. I even remember the book, The Naked Ape.
I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember walking home after an afternoon of ice skating at Recreation Park. My skates were slung over my shoulder. My feet felt funny in shoes.
After Halloween hauls, I use to put my candy in one of the tulip bowls, a nesting set my mother owned. I kept the bowl under my bed for easy access. Years later, I saw a similar set, all four bowls, for sale and bought it. It came with memories of one night a year.
keepthecoffeecoming.blog 