Posted tagged ‘Ghana’
February 26, 2016
Gracie snores, and last night she snored so loudly she kept waking me up. My bedtime was late enough without being disturbed by her multiple snores and an occasional snort. I’m tired and it is only 11 o’clock. Gracie, of course, is having a morning nap. The poor baby must be tired.
Cold day today, it is in the high 30’s, but the sun is shining so I’m not going to complain. When I went to get the papers, I heard birds singing to greet the morning. It sounded like spring to me.
I have random memories which loop through my mind. Some I see only once while others recur. Some of my memories of growing up are faded and worn while others are so bright they could have happened yesterday. My grey jacket reappears out of one my memory drawer every spring. It was my favorite jacket because I started wearing it only when the weather got warmer. It had no lining. It did have pockets on each side, and it had a zipper. My brightest memory is wearing that jacket and skipping on the sidewalk on my way to school.
I still remember biology and dissecting a frog. My memory drawer has a picture of the frog lying on its back on a silver lab tray. It looks washed out, too long preserved. My lab partner wanted nothing to do with that frog and the scalpel. It was left to me. She took all the notes. That was our deal. Making the first cut took me a while. I had to forego the urge to gag. Dead frogs didn’t bother me, but their insides were better left inside.
My first Ghana memory is of the morning after our arrival. My room was on the second floor of a school dorm. I remember walking outside, standing at the rail and looking at what was spread out below me. I saw greenery everywhere. I could see rusty tins roofs. I remember the awe. I was in Africa.
My memory drawers overflow. Some I can’t even open; others I can’t shut. The sad memories have their own places. Sometimes they come unbidden. They are not always welcome.
Categories: Musings
Tags: biology, cold, dissecting a frog, Ghana, greenery, memory drawers, random memories, sad memories, singing birds, Snoring, spring jacket, sunny day, tin roofs
Comments: 9 Comments
January 29, 2016
The sun is just now breaking through the clouds to defy the prediction of rain showers. We’re going to the dump later so I’d appreciate it if Mother Nature held off on the rain. I have a trunkful.
When I was a kid, the town trash trucks came once a week. My dad would haul the heavy barrels out of the cellar to the curb. The truck always had at least two men hanging off the back. They’d jump off, grab barrels, empty them into the back of the truck then toss the barrels to the curb. The guys wore heavy gloves and grubby clothes. I liked to watch when they’d compressed the trash to make more room. Our next door neighbor was a trash man and once in a while he’d do our home route. We’d all wave and yell.
I never really thought much about the garbage can in the back yard by the steps. It was in-ground, and you had to depress a lever to open it. I hated emptying the garbage from the house. The bin smelled awful and there were always maggots. The garbage truck also came once a week. The garbage man walked to the backyard carrying one barrel slung over his back. He’d open the bin, pull out the garbage can and dump it into his barrel. I always thought being a garbage man had to be the grossest job, but I was wrong.
The grossest job is being a night soil man anywhere. His job is to go from outhouse to outhouse to empty the pails while people are sleeping. I just happen to have met one in Ghana. It was while I was visiting my friends who didn’t have running water. I was back and forth to their outhouse during the night as I was suffering from a volunteer’s common ailment which necessitated frequent visits to the outhouse. I can’t imagine the night soil man was as surprised as I was. When he pulled out the pail, I heard the noise and jumped up. He poked his head just a bit into the hole and greeted me. I greeted him back. He smiled and put the empty pail back inside. I sat down. It had been the most interesting encounter.
Categories: Musings
Tags: barrels of trash, garbage bin, Garbage truck, Ghana, greeting, maggots, night soil, pails of night soil, smells, sun, trash truck
Comments: 14 Comments
January 1, 2016
Happy New Year!
The weather doesn’t look much different being grey and overcast, and I slept away the morning having stayed up way too late last night, but I feel a bit different, a little more excited for each new day. I have no expectations so whatever happens will be a surprise. I know I’m hoping to go back to Ghana in the fall with my friends, my friends from Peace Corps days. We traveled together all the time back when, and we lived in a duplex on school grounds. They are funny and are great travelers, and they love Ghana. It feels like home to them as well. How lucky we are!
When I was a kid, New Year’s Day wasn’t especially significant to me. It meant the end of vacation so it had a pall about it. I’d had a whole week of no bedtime and playing as long as I wanted with my new toys. I’d read my new books well into the night without being told to turn off the light. One week just wasn’t enough.
It really didn’t take long for routine to grab us right back into it. Get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, walk to school, sit there all day with just lunch and recess to break up the monotony, sit back down after lunch then with great hoopla run home at the end of the day hoping for some outside play time before it got dark.
The funny thing is I never thought of that as a routine. I just thought of it as the lot of every kid. Weekends also followed a pattern. On most winter Saturdays we walked uptown for a movie. The sun was always low in the sky when we’d walk home. I remember that for some reason. When I was older, we’d often skate on a Saturday. We would walk to Rec Park and skate on the temporary rink the town put up every year. It was circular, and we always skated one way.
Sundays were seldom exciting. They were masses in the morning and family dinners in the afternoon before we were free. Bedtime came early on a Sunday. My mother always used the excuse we needed our sleep for school the next day. We never bought it.
Categories: Musings
Tags: expectations, Ghana, new toys, New Year, overcast, Peace Corps days, reading, routine, traveling, vacation
Comments: 20 Comments
August 20, 2015
We have rejoined the world. The doors and windows are open to the breeze. The stale air is disappearing. It is still hot but not unbearably hot. Here in the dark den all three animals are sleeping near me, each in her special spot. The breeze is coming mostly from the north, from the window behind me. Pleasant best describes the morning. I usually shy away from using generic adjectives. I was, after all, an English teacher, but I think pleasant conjures all the best of today: the sun, the clean, dry air and most of all the breeze.
When I was a kid, I had little concept of time other than a few minutes, an hour and maybe as far away as tomorrow. “Are we there yet?” drove my father and every father crazy, but it was because we had been in the car for what seemed like hours or even days so we figured we had to be there no matter how far away there was. We had countdowns to birthdays and the best of all days, Christmas, but the whole concept was a little blurry. Three weeks until Christmas really didn’t mean a whole lot to us. Even the number of days in three weeks didn’t help. We understood two days or maybe three days, but we never really caught on until the big day was close, like a day away. When you’re six, every day is endless.
Time in Ghana was frustrating at first. Six o’clock meant six o’clock to us but not to a Ghanaian to whom six o’clock meant whenever. If I invited someone to my house, I was always asked if I meant African or European time. I had been raised to be punctual, a courteous sign of respect, so it took me a while to unlearn European time. I learned to be patient and to wait. People would come in their own time. Lorries would leave when they were full. Stores would open when the owners got there. Dresses would be finished when the seamstress got around to finishing them.
I had to be on time for my classes and to take the government bus, but that was it. I came to like Ghanaian time. I was never late to anything. Things got done whenever. Life was slow and easy. I didn’t even wear a watch, still don’t.
Categories: Musings
Tags: African time, Are we there yet?, cooler day, countdown days, endless days, European time, Ghana, holidays, hours, minutes, opened windows and doors, Peace Corps Ghana, sleeping animals, time
Comments: 8 Comments
August 14, 2015
The days of summer seem to run together. When I wake up, I often forget what day it is. My trick is to remember yesterday then let today slide in its place. Some days are the same, my favorite days, the ones which have no lists. Today is not one of them.
Fern had to go to the vet’s yesterday. She hated the ride and messed the crate going and coming, but when she got to the vet’s, she was calm and investigated everything. She even watched a dog out the window. I took her because she was limping. The vet, Gracie’s vet, said the ligament in the back leg joint is looser than it should be. Surgery would correct that, but she thinks Fern is too old so we are going with pain killers and the hope over time it will mend itself. I help by carrying Fern up and down the stairs.
I don’t spend much time with people any more. I have a play on some Wednesdays and Fridays and movie night on Saturday. That’s it. The rest of the time I’m by myself. I’m just fine with that. I don’t really miss people all that much though I always do enjoy my time with friends. I remember when I first lived alone. I hated it. It was in Ghana. I was homesick and lonely, craving people. I had my students but they didn’t fill the void.
It took a few long months before I was comfortable with myself and could fill and enjoy my time. That was a life lesson for which I am forever thankful. It is not one I ever expected. Peace Corps is so much more than you can imagine.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Bolgatanga, by myself, favorite days, few people, Ghana, lists, pain killers, Peace Corps, Peace Corps Ghana, people, quiet times, remember yesterday, vet appointment, what day of the week
Comments: 12 Comments
July 31, 2015
And the heat goes on! Today is just a bit better than yesterday, and tonight is supposed to be cool. We did have some rain last night around 11:30. I don’t know how long it lasted. I know it was small rain as I was outside on the deck watching Gracie and barely got wet.
A large fly was inside the house yesterday. I hate flies. I suspect this one was logy from the cold because when it landed I was able to sneak attack and whack it with my hand. No more fly!
I wish I could describe the excitement I had when I was flying over the Sahara on my way to Ghana. It was like seeing my geography book come alive. I almost couldn’t believe it was the Sahara below the plane. It seemed more like a dream. Seeing it got me even more excited because it meant we were getting closer to Ghana. I had no idea what to expect from Ghana. The books I read had described the country, but then it was my imagination, my mind’s eye, which conjured the way I thought it might look. Exotic came to mind. A place different in every way from the familiar was the overwhelming thought. In many ways I wasn’t wrong.
The first few days were filled with eye-opening sights. The compounds, not houses but compounds, had tin roofs rusted by the rain. My whiteness was an attraction. Everywhere I went a parade followed. I met a chief, a real African chief. All the sights, sounds and smells overwhelmed me. I couldn’t process fast enough. I almost needed to pinch myself. I was really in Africa.
One of the first lessons I learned in Ghana was not to have expectations but rather to take everything as it came. I didn’t grouse about what I didn’t have. That was the key to living happily. I didn’t like the flies and I wasn’t thrilled about peeing in a hole, but they were part of life for me. I swatted the flies and aimed well at the hole. I came to love Ghanaian food and wore dresses of Ghanaian cloth. My sandals had soles made of tire rubber by the man in the market, sort of an outdoor cobbler. I rode in crowded lorries and buses and ate food sold along the roadside. I never gave any of it a second thought. I was home.
Sometimes even now I am amazed I went to Africa. I can’t remember what made me at twenty-one willing to go, to leave everyone and everything behind me. Whatever it was, I am forever thankful.
Categories: Musings
Tags: African chief, compounds, desert, expectations, flies, Ghana, heat, humidity, Sahara, sights, unfamiliar, whiteness
Comments: 2 Comments
July 27, 2015
I stood it as long as I could. I watched the thermostat go from 72 to 76 in a matter of an hour or so. When the house started to close in, I did it. I turned on the air conditioning.
Today defines humid. The air is thick and still. I think there was a bit of rain earlier as the deck was damp, but under the umbrella was dry so the rain was light and quickly came and went. I do have something on my list today, but I’m hedging and thinking tomorrow. The more comfortable I get, the less inclined I am to move. I do have the laundry going: a load in the washer and another in the dryer. The laundry bag sat by the cellar door for two days, and that was enough to motivate me. Usually I don’t move until I am just about out of unmentionables.
I am most decidedly spoiled. Life is so easy. If I’m hot, on goes the AC. If I’m cold, I raise the thermostat. My car, like most of ours, has AC so I run from the car to the store which also has AC. I get my groceries delivered right to my kitchen. Roseanna and Lee come and clean every two weeks. My yard, deck and lawn are tended to every Friday. After the lawn is cut and the walkway trimmed, the deck is blown free of debris, especially acorns. Some of them are half eaten so I think they are the red spawn’s revenge. He probably roars laughing when I step on one and howl.
When I was a kid, everyone pretty much complained about the heat. It was a local pastime. The old “hot enough for you?” was often asked though no one expected an answer. It was the summer rhetorical question. Jumping over the sprinkle was a common remedy against the heat. The water always felt really cold at first, soothing. Sometimes we’d walk to the town pool, but we also had to walk back which defeated the purpose of getting cool at the pool. We never stayed home, though, heat or not. That just wasn’t done in summer. Every day had to be lived to its fullest.
In Ghana, I encountered HEAT. Day after day was often over 100˚. My shower had no hot water, but I didn’t care. A cold shower was relief. It was like jumping over the sprinkler. We never really complained, but we did use the old “hot enough for you?” mostly as a joke. I didn’t even have a fan, didn’t think to buy one. Traveling was best done at night or in the early morning because being crammed into a lorry was never pleasant and sitting next to a window never really helped. But again, we didn’t complain. We accepted our lot and just did the best we could.
Now I complain and whine. I am getting older and believe both are my due.
Categories: Musings
Tags: 100˚, AC, cold shower, complaining about the heat, crammed lorry, Ghana, grocery delivery, Hot enough for you?, housecleaner, humidity, spoiled life, stepping on acorns, still and hot, thick air, yard man
Comments: 14 Comments
July 17, 2015
My house was only 66˚ when I woke up. In the winter that’s cold but during this time of year it’s a pleasant, lovely morning. Today will be in the 70’s, but tomorrow the humidity will return with stifling air which will make moving uncomfortable and sweaty. No one is attractive in the humidity. We all wilt. Sunday will be the same but with a probability of rain.
My mother was always cold. She kept her house in the 70’s during the winter. The rest of us wore t-shirts and sandals and light pants. Her house was almost tropical. We complained, and she hated it when we did. Now, as I get older, I understand. Each winter I am colder than I had been the winter before. I keep the house at the same temperature it has been for years, but I need a sweatshirt. Long sleeves used to be enough. I think I am becoming my mother.
The other day my former Ghanaian student Franciska called. She likes to check to make sure I am doing well. She calls me her mother though I am only seven years older than she, but motherhood, to her, is a matter of principal, not age. I was her teacher, and that is enough to bestow motherhood on me.
When I am with Franciska, I notice she talks to anyone she can. She also introduces me to her new friends as her mother. They look a bit bewildered until Franciska explains I was her Peace Corps teacher 45 years ago. I cringe at the 45 but love that Peace Corps gets into the conversation. Anything that promotes the Peace Corps is just fine with me. Franciska often tells me she is still bewildered as to why volunteers actually agreed to go to Bolga. She says even Ghanaians don’t like Bolga. It is flat, almost treeless and hot, really hot, in the dry season. Back in my day there were no creature comforts, but I always figured that was just part of the Peace Corps experience: you take, even embrace, what you’re given.
My list is long today-errand day. I have four stops and not a single one of them is fun or exciting. Where’s the Ferris wheel when you need one?
Categories: Musings
Tags: beautiful day, cold winter, errand day, Ghana, hot, hot in the house, humidity, Peace Corps, pleasant moring, rain showers, stifling, sweatshirt, wilting in the heat
Comments: 6 Comments
June 18, 2015
Okay, we’re finally home. Gracie and I decided to stay an extra day. Her decision was quick: she got an hour walk every day with Bill. She loved it and left her calling card everywhere they walked on the road. All of Mont Vernon, New Hampshire knows Gracie was there. Peg was forever treating Gracie to ham and other tidbits. Gracie followed Peg and Bill each time one of them moved. I was so spoiled by their care and affection and the wonderful food Peg made that I was almost tempted to follow them too.
Bill, Peg and I were in Ghana together. We met during the week in Philadelphia before we left for training. I joke with them that I was lucky enough to find two people willing to skip out on lectures and presentations. We toured Philadelphia instead. I swear they tempted me off the straight and narrow. They, of course, blame me.
They were supposed to be posted 100 miles from me in Tamale, the capital of the Northern Region. I was posted to Bolgatanga, the capital of the Upper Region. Given the small number of volunteers in the Northern and Upper Regions the 100 mile proximity would have made them my neighbors, but Peg found out she was pregnant. Peace Corps decided to let them stay but they were moved closer to Accra and the Peace Corps office to a town called Tafo. I visited them and their son Kevin on my way home from Accra, Ghana’s capital, every time I went. They lived without running water and had their own outhouse in the row of outhouses at the back of their building. That’s where I met the night soil man. I was sitting there when I heard a noise from below. I got up and looked down. A man’s head popped in the hole and looked up at me. He said, “Hello, madam,” as he emptied then replaced the night soil bucket. It is still the most interesting first encounter I’ve ever had.
Categories: Musings
Tags: Ghana, New Hampshire, Peace Corps Ghana, Peace Corps training, Peg and Bill, Tamle
Comments: 12 Comments
keepthecoffeecoming.blog 