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Bolgatanga

August 31, 2012

The other morning I woke, went outside where there was a cool morning breeze, I could hear the roosters and smell  charcoal fires from the two compounds right near to my house. I went outside and sat under a baobab tree. Within ten minutes there were about 8 or 9 children all around talking to me. The 3 year old leaned between my legs resting his elbows on the tops of my legs. They laughed and smiled the whole time. Next came the women from the house next door, the house where Franciska’s father lived. They came one at a time and wished me welcome. When I couldn’t answer in FraFra, they taught me. When the next woman came, I answered in FraFra, and she smiled and clapped. Ghanaians love hearing people try to speak their languages.

Yesterday was market day, every third day here. I loaded up on vegetables and fruits. I bought cloth. As I was walking, a white woman walked by, stopped and told me she knew me. She did: we had met last summer. She directed me to the spot a few feet away where the local volunteers were meeting, which they try to do every market day. Nine volunteers are around Bolga in a variety of villages. When I was here, there were only 9 of us in the whole Upper Region: now West and East Upper Regions. I had met a few of them last year, and we chatted quite a while. They wanted to know about Bolga and Peace Corps in the old days. The difference in Bolga is size; the difference in PC is immense as this is a far different world. All of them had been taught FraFra in training and were amazed I had learned Hausa until I explained we were all going to different towns with different languages so Hausa was best for us.

Yesterday I was standing at the gate to the market when the cutest little girl was walking by me her her mother. She looked about 3. I saw her look at me, and I saw the horror on her face. She screamed in fear and hid behind her mother. The girl screamed so much the mother couldn’t walk by me into the market and went the other way. I do have a wonderful way with small girls!

Today I am going with my students but we haven’t decided where yet. I’ll keep you updated!

I am fine but a sweaty mess, not a pretty picture|!

 

 

 

Hello from Amsterdam

August 26, 2012

Yup,I said Amsterdam. My poor body thinks it is 3:30 in the morning. Here it is 9:30. I board at 2:15. I am charging my iPad and charging myself, with coffee instead of electricity. I am in the lounge about ready for a nap. This is really it until Bolga!

“I have learned that to be with those I like is enough”

August 13, 2012

We have sun, that bright orb in the sky which sheds light on the world. It has brought warmth and dispelled the damp so tonight will finally be the oft postponed movie on the deck night. It is supposed to pleasant and cool.

It was a mirror under her nose to see if she’s alive type morning. The dog wanted out. I don’t know when. I heard her bells, went downstairs, opened the door and turned off the AC so I could leave the door opened and she could come in which she wanted. I went back to bed. The phone woke me at 10:30, that’s right, 10:30, but I didn’t let the late morning change my ritual: two papers and two cups of coffee later, here I am.

Now I’m stuck with nothing to day; my mind is a tabula rasa. I write six days a week (it used to be every day) and have been writing this blog for at least six years maybe even seven I’m not sure. I have discussed every aspect of my childhood, my teen years, college years, Peace Corps service and the day-to-day stuff which keeps me busy or idle depending upon my mood. I have excoriated tourists, supermarkets, slow drivers who can’t see over the steering wheel and the weather, can’t forget the weather. I have taken you with me to Morocco, Ghana and South America, though that last one wasn’t live. Soon enough you’ll be going back to Ghana with me. You have been made privy to the number of underwear I’m bringing on my journey, and I’ll be posting my flight times and numbers so you can make sure I arrived safely. I have told countless dad stories. You even know some of my failings as I’ve lamented them a few times, a tin ear being one and impatience being prime. You have essentially become family but don’t expect post cards!

“Seeing a murder on television can help work off one’s antagonisms. And if you haven’t any antagonisms, the commercials will give you some.”

August 12, 2012

The rain continues and another movie night is postponed. Today, at least, is a bit cooler than it’s been so the air is off and the door and windows are opened. Gracie is enjoying the freedom of having access to her dog door without ringing her poochie bells.

I think I watch too much HGTV. Right now a movie is on, and when the victim’s house was shown from the street, I thought craftsman.

I love mac and cheese but I can never replicate the recipe because I use whatever cheese is left in the house. One mac and cheese I remember as the best I ever tasted, but I have no idea what was in it. It’s the same with my meatloaf. Added to the meat is salsa, leftover vegetables and anything else I find in the fridge. Seldom am I disappointed by the taste.

I have a hierarchy of commercials I hate. Topping the list are commercials with talking things, personified things. I just watched a wart taunt, and it wasn’t pretty. Tires brag, Pam and non-Pam muffins harass each other and bugs party. Second on the commercials I detest list are those filled with product icons. Some not only talk but also sing and dance. I remember the Kool-Aid Man with the red Kool-Aid. He was everywhere: racing on the beach, rolling logs and saving the day. The Pillsbury Dough Boy stopped being cute pretty quickly. I could put a tiger in my tank or in my cereal bowl, but luckily, now I won’t have to pick as Tony the Tiger won his court case. I did like the way Mr. Peanut looked. He was the perfect gentleman with his top hat, monocle, white gloves, spats and a cane. One of the first I remember is Speedy. Do you remember the capital of North Dakota? Maybe not, but I bet you can sing, “Plop Plop Fizz Fizz OH What a Relief It Is.”

I hate to admit it but some commercials are clever and funny. I’m not talking getting whipped by your spaghetti or by the tag in your underwear. Nope, I’m talking many Bud Lite commercials. I give kudos to those ad-men. The clothing drive ad and the skinny dipping couple are two of my favorite commercials. They are both funny and clever.

I am not a true football fan, but I am a Patriots fan. I watch every game. If they are in the Super Bowl, I’m thrilled to watch it. If they aren’t, I’ll watch the Super Bowl anyway, not for the football but for the commercials. They are usually well worth the wait.

“The next open space was a park in a burst of sunlight, then a boulevard, and a glimpse of Europe and the hurry and the fine clothes of people on a busy pavement.”

August 5, 2012

The house is getting a breath of fresh air for a bit then it’s back to summer hibernation. It’s unbelievably humid, and the air is so thick it’s almost difficult to breathe. It must have rained a bit earlier as the deck was wet when I went out there this morning. The birds are in full voice, especially the crows. Tonight is our movie night. I just hope the dampness gives way to a bit of sun so everything can dry.

Today I have to go to the dump, to Agway for bird seed and to the grocery store for a few things. I am now out of coffee, and only that and pet food will get me into the grocery store.

If someone had blindfolded me and dropped me in the center of Buenos Aires, I would have sworn I was in Europe. The city is gorgeous. It is called the Paris of South America and rightfully so. The architecture is colonial. Outdoor cafes are all over the main shopping area, which is pedestrian only. My friend had a long leather coat made in one of the shops. We walked all over the city through plazas, into churches and museums. The Rose Garden was lovely despite the lack of blossoms, it being winter there. The hats and colors of the mountain Indians had disappeared and were replaced by every day clothes. One day we took a bus tour to a large aestancia, a working ranch. It was a cattle ranch. One of the bulls, a champion, was so enormous that the man holding him appeared tiny, almost dwarfish. Our guide explained that the semen of this bull sells for an enormous amount of money and he brought us to the extraction area. He started to explain and stood where the bull stands before the process. I couldn’t stand it any more and started to laugh at the vision running through my head having to do with guide. My friend too started to laugh. We had to leave the group, and the guide asked if we were okay. We could only nod. At the ranch we had a beef dinner and were entertained by Argentinian dancers. It was a wonderful day.

My favorite part of the city was La Boca, a neighborhood where many of the earliest residents had come from Italy and where the off-beat still lived. The area is called la Boca because it is at the mouth of the Riachuelo. This part of the city was so amazingly colorful. The buildings were brightly colored in reds and yellows and blues. I loved it.

Our hotel was an old one in the historic district. It had a grand dining room and lots of wood and character. The US ski team was staying there. They had been summer skiing in Bariloche, Argentina. We met them at breakfast in the grand dining room. They were all young.

We had beef for dinner every night because it was so cheap. We’d walk around until we’d find a restaurant we liked. Not once were we ever disappointed by the food.

Being in Buenos Aires made us feel as if we had left South America. It was so unlike all the other countries we has visited before it. We could have been in Europe. I enjoyed Buenos Aires but I missed the vibrant colors, the Indians and the hats most of all.

We were getting close to our flight home so we didn’t have much time to spend in Argentina. I’m sure we would have found everything we were missing if we had left the city, but we had yet to go to Uruguay and then on to Brazil then finally to Rio and home and we had only about 10 days until then.

Uruguay and Brazil and home tomorrow.

August 2, 2012

July 31, 2012

“!Ama Sua, Ama Kjella, Ama Lllulla!”

July 31, 2012

If I were given the power to create a morning, it would be just like this morning. The air is cool, the sun bright and the breeze strong enough to rustle leaves. Everything is quiet. All the animals are asleep: Fern and Maddie are on my bed and Gracie is in her crate. All I hear are the leaves sounding a bit like the ocean coming to shore.

I have saved all my errands for today: four stops of errands. I figure if I have to waste time going from place to place I might as well waste a single day.

When I left you last, I was on my way into Peru.

After we went through all the border stations, we took a bus to Lima. The trip was about 600 miles down the coast of Peru straight through to Lima, but when you travel, it doesn’t always happen the way it’s planned. The bus broke down two hours into the trip. We got off and sat in the sand. All along the coast of Peru, the land is like a giant desert with cities and towns popping up out of the sand as if they were oases. The bus chose to break down in nowhere land. We had food and water and books to while away the time, but we didn’t expect to be waiting so long until we were off again. The driver and his mate tried to fix the bus-nothing doing. The mate hooked a ride back to Lima. We waited. About three or four hours later the new bus arrived. We had waited about five hours, eaten all our food and finished the water. We grabbed our backpacks, bordered the bus and fell asleep. It was dark when I woke up. That was the best part of the ride. All around us outside the windows was nothing but blackness until the bus happened up on a town or city. Each lit up the night like a tiny Las Vegas. It was quite late or quite early, depending upon your perspective, when we arrived in Lima. We took a taxi to the hotel and promptly fell asleep, clothes and all.

The nest day we walked all around Lima. At the Plaza de Armas, where Pizarro founded the city, we went into the magnificent cathedral and walked around the government palace. Those buildings were spectacular as were the windowed, ornate carved wooden balconies on the outsides of the buildings. What was less spectacular were the tanks and armed soldiers ringing the central plaza. Lima had had a strike and there was now a 9 o’clock curfew, and the show of arms was to maintain that curfew. We just walked by and kept touring. It provoked interest in us, not fear. I hadn’t ever been where the military was out in such force, not even during my trip to Russia.

I think we walked miles and miles over the next few days. The curfew was raised to midnight while we were there. We didn’t stay out that late anyway. After dinner we went back to the hotel where we watched the Olympics. The narration was in Spanish, but it was still easy to follow. It was Nadia Comaneci we managed to see while sitting in that small TV room in a hotel in Lima. One day we rode out to see Incan ruins about 20 miles or so outside of the city. They were right on the water. The ruins were still being dug so we got to see work in progress. We walked down and in some of the buildings, none of which had a roof. The buildings were the color of the sand.

We flew out of Lima a few days later to Cuzco, which had been at one time the capital of the Incan empire. The plane flew over the Andes, and we were so close to the mountains I could see the shadow of the plane as it passed over the snow-capped endless Andes peaks. We had been warned to take it easy at first in Cuzco as it is almost 11,000 feet in elevation. I figured I’d throw up once every morning and be fine. That’s exactly what happened.

It was outside of Cuzco where I first saw llamas all along on the roads and in the rocky fields. I watched girls using hand looms which looked like spinning tops. The hats had changed. Many were now mostly red brimmed and looked like small Mexican sombreros. Others resembled fedoras but with a tall center. The women’s clothes were still bright and beautiful. Some men wore wool caps which also covered their ears. There were patterns knitted on the hats and even llamas. We went out to Sacsayhuaman, an Inca ruin close to the city. It was magnificent. I couldn’t begin to imagine the feat necessary to lift those stones  then add one to another to build the walls. From the top part of the ruins, we could see Cuzco spread out below us. On another trip we went to Ollantaytambo, a couple of hours out of Cuzco. The town is built on Incan foundations, and the ruins were amazing. I learned how to recognize Incan construction, especially doors and windows. I am a lover of windows and take pictures of them everywhere. It is my way of seeing the past and remembering those long ago people who looked out the same windows and thought how beautiful.

Tomorrow we’re going to Macchu Picchu.

July 26, 2012

That’s all the motorcycle is, a system of concepts worked out in steel.”

July 24, 2012

I thought I heard rain this morning, but I just turned over and went back to sleep and slept in. I didn’t wake up until 9:30. I even went to bed early for me last night so this was a where’s my prince sort of deep sleep. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see the Seven Dwarves standing by my bedside. The streets were damp when I went to get the paper so it had rained, and that little rain brought us a cloudy day and thick humidity. The sun is appearing infrequently as if it doesn’t really care one way or the other. The paper predicts a hot day.

Sounds are always muted in the humidity. The thickness of the air drowns everything and brings a sort of lethargy. Even the leaves on the oak trees barely stir. The house is cloudy day dark and the window here does little to lighten the room. It’s morning nap time for Fern, Maddie and Gracie. The loudest noise in the house is the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard.

When I lived in Ghana, I had a Honda 70. It was the demure moto, as the Ghanaians call motorcycles, for a woman who always wore a dress. My first year volunteers weren’t allowed motorcycles, but when that changed my second year, I bought one. My first trip, just after learning to ride it, was the hundred miles from Tamale where I bought the bike to Bolga where I lived. I loved that ride. It was a freedom I had never felt in a crowded lorry with every seat taken, people sitting in the middle on small stools and a few chickens and goats along for the ride. That moto gave me the freedom to take back roads leading to the small villages which ringed Bolga. I always brought a canister of extra gas. My friends and I would usually go together; Bill took the baby Kevin safely tied in a backpack and I took Peg his wife on the back of my bike. We’d often bring lunch and stop for a picnic. Those were fun days as we found ourselves in amazing places. Once some guys hauled our bikes across a small pond and we sat by a village watering hole to have lunch. Small boys stood around and watched us. The guys at the pond waited for us to finish as we had given them half a cedi for one way and told them we’d give them the other half if they waited to take the bikes back. That was a lot of money in those days. Another time we went to Tongo. We had brought a small charcoal burner and hot dogs that came in a can to cook almost like at a real barbecue. We set up the burner on a rock. A bit later a man came and yelled at us in FraFra. The small boys in school uniforms who had been standing around and watching us translated. The man wanted money to appease the gods on whose rock we had rested the burner, but the rock had bird poop on it so we didn’t buy his story figuring it was another scam for money. His response was something along the lines of  misfortunes would follow us, but that too we ignored. We finished and packed up to leave. Not far from the rock, Bill’s bike stopped suddenly for no reason. We looked at each other wondering, but Bill’s bike restarted with no problem. We were just glad the old man hadn’t seen it.