“I wish that every day was Saturday and every month was October.”
Posted October 9, 2021 by katryCategories: Musings
The wind is intermittently strong enough to bend branches and twirl leaves. The morning is fall cold, the sort of cold which disappears as the day gets older. The sun is bright but not quite warm enough. It is a sweatshirt day.
When I walk through the house, I find small chewed pieces of branches and pine cones and even a few brown leaves dangling from a small branch. Nala brings them inside through the dog door, but because she always goes in and out that door, I pretty much ignore her comings and goings. Henry is using the dog door every now and then. This morning he came in to watch me get the papers.
I had Frosted Flakes for breakfast. If I had been sitting on the floor watching TV while I was eating, I could have been ten again watching Creature Double Feature. I am watching a science fiction movie which, at best, is a B-movie. It is called Monsters of War. The monsters are dinosaurs, hungry dinosaurs. The movie is in color. It needs to be black and white. It fits.
My dance card has a few items. One is the dump, but I’ll save that for tomorrow. It gives me something to look forward to says I with tongue in cheek. The others are uke concerts, today and tomorrow. I’ll have to bundle up.
When I was a little kid, my Saturdays, after breakfast and a movie, were unplanned. In the winter, I could go to a matinee up town. On warmer Saturdays I’d roam on my bike, no destination in mind. My mother never asked where I was going once she saw my bike. She knew I didn’t know.
I liked the back roads of my town. I’d pick a direction. I had stops. One was the horse barn behind the town hall. The horses were in stalls. I could see their heads from the doorway. Another stop was the zoo. I’d watch the mountain goats and deer in the first exhibit, one you could see from the sidewalk. There were rocky hills to climb for the goats. I remember being amazed to see a couple of goats at the very top just standing there surveying their world. Another direction led to the next town and Lake Quannapowitt. Sometimes I’d circle the lake. Other times I’d just bike home a different way. I remember the train station near the church. The golf course was in another direction. I’d walk my bike along the side of the road looking for errant golf balls. I often found one on someone’s lawn across the street.
I was gone all day on Saturdays. I cherished the day because Sunday was a wasted day to me with church in the morning and having to stay close to home waiting for dinner in the afternoon. After dinner, we’d watch some TV before going early to bed. I remember westerns.
“Africa changes you forever, like nowhere on earth. Once you have been there, you will never be the same.”
Posted October 8, 2021 by katryCategories: Musings
Tags: Burking Faso, Ghana, Ouga, Peace Corps Ghana
The morning is another pretty one with lots of sun, blue sky and the tiniest of breezes. The house was colder than outside this morning, a sure sign of fall. I put on my sweatshirt. I’m comfortable now.
Nala stole deodorant off my bureau yesterday. I knew she had contraband when she rushed out the dog door and wouldn’t turn around when I called her. I ran out to the deck, but she was already in the yard. I threw my slippers near her. It worked the other day, but not yesterday. Luckily Henry chased her so she dropped her prize. Nothing is sacred.
When I lived in Ghana, I was close to the northern border with Upper Volta, now Burkina Faso. We used to go to Ougadougou, the capital, for the weekend. The day before the trip we’d go to Bolga’s lorry park and arrange for a car heading to Ouga to stop at the school and pick us up on the way. The driver wedged us in so he could carry more people. The road was tarred at first then it became a dirt road, a big dirt road with lorries streaming by. I remember during the rainy season having to get out of the car so it was light enough to pass through the muddiest parts of the road without getting stuck. I thought it was an adventure. I knew when we’d be close to Ouga as the paved road started again.
French is the national language, and I knew enough French to ask questions, to bargain and to order food. Ouga was a small city back then. The market was steps down from the center in the middle of the city. We stayed at a nice hotel with AC about a block from the center. I remember the hotel had an empty pool in the back. I’d walk to get breakfast each morning. Boys on bicycles with huge baskets in front sold baguettes, fresh wonderful baguettes. I’d buy Yucca soda, either green or red. It didn’t matter. They both tasted the same.
One of the joys of Ouga was French food. The only places to eat in Bolga back then were chop bars, little hole in the wall restaurants which offered only fufu or t-zed and soup, traditional dishes. The chop bars bordered the lorry park and had only a rickety table or two. In Ouga, my favorite part of the meal was always the fresh vegetables. I ate green beans, massive helpings, at one restaurant. They were lip smacking good mostly because the only veggies I could find in Ghana were tuber yams, onions and tomatoes.
I never had a visa to get into Burkina. I’d tell the border station I was going for the weekend, and they’d let me in. The guard only wanted to know if I had bam bam, which they mimed as a gun, and if my dress was long enough. I always passed.
