The humidity is so thick you can see it in the air. The AC is already working its hardest to cool the house. Outside is mostly cloudy and 80°. The humidity is 79°. Both dogs are asleep on the couch. My dance card is empty, and I am thankful.

My muse is among the missing again today. I figured I’d tell a few stories about my time in Ghana. Some you know, but they are worth repeating.

At my friends’ house in Tafo, they didn’t have running water. They did have outhouses in the yard, but because they lived on the second floor, you sort of had to plan your outhouse trip ahead of time. On one visit, I had travelers’ bane, a woeful curse. I had to break land speed records to get to the outhouse. I sat there a while then I heard a noise below me. I jumped up. A head popped into the hole above which I had been sitting. A man saw me and said, “Hello, madam.” I said hello back. He grabbed the now filled bucket, emptied it, put it back then said good-bye. He was the night soil man.

I heard a knock at my door. I looked and saw a man I didn’t know standing in front of my screen door. I went over, and he greeted me. I returned the greeting. Greetings are a wonderful part of the Ghanaian culture and were our first lessons during language training, Hausa for me. He very politely told me he was looking for a white woman to be his friend which meant a whole lot more than friendship. I politely declined, and he asked me if I knew any Canadian women. I said no. He thanked me and left.

Students used to visit me at night as they had a bit of time at the end of the required study time and lights out. One night I remember my student, Mary Kanubula, talking about Mary and the birth of Jesus. I have no memory of how that became the topic of conversation, but she had a theory she wanted to share. She didn’t believe in the virgin birth. It made no sense to her. She told me an angel came to earth and had his way with Mary, though in her words he f’ed her. She got pregnant. That was it.

One of my favorite of all Ghanaian sayings was when a student explained she had gone to my house and met my absence. I wasn’t home.

The morning is dark. Sometime earlier it rained, and more rain is expected. The breeze is strong, maybe even a wind at times. The AC is on, my attempt to beat the humidity. I started my day cleaning up after Henry. He got spooked and knocked over a full water dish in the kitchen. My pant legs got wet as did some jars and cutting boards, but the floor does look good, as if I washed it. The paws prints are gone.

I have no plans for today. Outside does not look inviting. Besides, the roads will be filled with bored vacationers looking for amusement.

This is the rainy season in Ghana. It rains just about every day. Everything is green. The fields are filled with corn and millet plants so high you can’t see over them. Nothing stops in the rain. It is just a regular part of the day. The bugs return. In my living room, I had a naked light bulb hanging on a wire from the ceiling. It was ugly so I bought a basket in the market and made a sort of lampshade for the bulb, relying, of course, on my extensive interior decorating skills. On the floor below the basket was a circle of light, the circumference of the basket. At the end of every night, the circle was black, filled with bugs attracted to the light, to their own demise. I started taking my anti-malarial pills again. I had stopped taking them in the bug-less dry season, but I didn’t want to court malaria so I choked down the gross tasting Aralen, an antimalarial pill.

Most of the rainy season was during the school holiday, sort of Ghana’s version of summer vacation. l traveled. First I’d take the bus to Kumasi, visit friends then take the train to Accra. I always stayed at the Peace Corps hostel in Accra, a whole 50 pesewas (think cents) for bed and breakfast. I also got to catch up with friends, some I hadn’t seen since training. Usually I went to Togo where I binged on French pastry, sorbet, lobster and biftecks with frites, steak and potatoes in English. I shopped at the grand marché, the huge market in Lomé, the capital of Togo. I always thought that made me a world traveler.

Every time I have returned to Ghana it has been during the rainy season. The fields are filled. The rain is heavy at times with thunder and lightning adding a bit of drama. I’d sit outside at the hotel restaurant at a table under a thatched roof, have dinner and watch the rain. Nothing stops in the rain.