Posted tagged ‘Ghana’

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“When you are at home, your troubles can never defeat you.”

August 24, 2012

The morning is already warm, and I’m about to turn on the AC. It’s been a noisy morning as there have been a couple of barkfests with at least four dogs joining in, including Gracie. It has also been a pain in the butt sort of morning. When I poured milk into my coffee, it was bad, not smelly, but floating on the top of the cup bad. I grabbed Gracie and went to Dunkin’ Donuts. The drive-up window line was so long I couldn’t see the little voice box for ordering. I couldn’t get out to order as I didn’t get dressed deciding to hide in the car so I was stuck in the long line. Finally I got my two cups of coffee, sighed in relief and went home to my usual coffee and the papers.

One day, only one day until my trip. I am so excited to be going back. Last year I was both excited and a bit apprehensive given the 40 years between visits, but the trip turned out so well that this time I’m just excited to go back. I know I talk about Ghana a lot, maybe too much sometimes, but it is such an important part of who I am, who I became, that every time Ghana comes to mind my heart swells and fills with memories of friends, of shared experiences, of love for another country and for the beautiful Ghanaians, their smiles and their greetings. I know there were downsides, but they were tolerable once I made up my mind that this was home. It was like living in New England and complaining about the cold and the snow.

I’m going to be meeting the current volunteers. We’ll enjoy dinner together. One of them told me they want to hear all about the old days. Now there are 13 volunteers just around the Bolga area. That amazes as there were only 9 of us in the entire Upper Region, now two regions: the Upper East and the Upper West. The region in my day was primitive with very few schools. Even Ghanaians didn’t want to teach in the Upper Region because of the climate. We didn’t know any better so we loved living there far away from Accra, far away from Peace Corps. We thought it ideal.

I have a single errand left for today then I’m going to start packing. The sports bag I bought last year to haul home the Bolga baskets is coming as are the school supplies for one of the primary schools. My bag should weigh in the hundreds as those crayons are darn heavy. My house/pet sitter is coming this afternoon to find out what she needs to do. Her son is coming with her to translate as she speaks only Portuguese and I don’t.

One day left!

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 22 Comments

“Without new experiences, something inside of us sleeps. The sleeper must awaken.”

August 20, 2012

Shades of fall arrived last night as the temperature dropped to the 60’s. It will be the same every night this week. When I woke up, I wanted to lounge a bit and enjoy the cool morning, but Gracie was insistent we get up. The day is dark as rain is expected later.

My friend Annie and I went out to eat to celebrate my birthday. She couldn’t believe that we are in our mid-60’s. Most times, unless I have to haul stuff into the house or go up and down the stairs, neither do I. Hearts and minds don’t ever seem to age.

Today is dump day, a belated dump day as I should have gone this weekend. Gracie will be excited as this is her favorite errand.

This weekend was as busy as I have seen it all summer. There were so many people at Stop & Shop you’d think a cataclysmic event was on the horizon  which necessitated stocking up on essentials. Carts were blocking the aisles and people stopped in the middle to chat leaving no way around. I was there because I needed dry cat food and not much else so luckily I was in and out quickly.

Many schools start next week so this weekend was the last hurrah. I can’t believe that two weeks from today is Labor Day, the end of summer, and in the old days, the end of wearing white.

The table in my bedroom is filling up with stuff for my trip. I have mosquito wipes as my feet were eaten last year, pop-up face cloths which I can discard, the iPad international charger, my cameras and their battery rechargers and a new guide-book written by four former Ghanaian Peace Corps volunteers. When I was a volunteer, I always knew the best cheap places to eat and sleep and so do they.  I have tabbed where I want to go and what I want to see. This time I’ll be a tourist up to and back from Bolga. 5 days and counting until my flight!

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 15 Comments

“Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.”

August 16, 2012

Last night was wonderful. First came the rumbles of thunder then the lightning. I went outside on the deck for a while and watched the sky being lit up by small jagged bolts. Every now and then a giant bolt of lightning would surprise me as it spread across the sky and lit the night. It rained, slowly at first then with a bit more intensity. I can always judge the amount of rain fall by Gracie. If she stays out, the rain isn’t much. If she runs in, it must be pouring.

Today is drier than it’s been so the air feels cooler without all the humidity. The breeze is ever so slight. I’m thinking the deck and a book will be perfect for today.

I learned to tell time when I was in the second grade. My aunt taught me. Later I found out why. That aunt, always and forever my favorite aunt, gave me a Cinderella watch for my first communion gift. I remember that watch perfectly. It had a light blue band and Cinderella, the face of my watch, was wearing a light blue gown. She was Princess Cinderella. I was thrilled with that gift and would make a big production of bending my elbow and raising my wrist to my face so I could check the time. I wanted my friends to notice my watch and be jealous.

I don’t wear a watch and haven’t for a long time. I have two of them, both gifts. The one I cherish was a 50th birthday gift from my mother. The watch is beautiful with a red band and silver decorations on it and around the watch, also silver. I wear it as an accessory sometimes, never as a timekeeper. The other watch was the proverbial thanks for your service here is a watch. It was a gift from the district when I retired. On its face is a promo for the district. I never wear that one.

When I travel, I generally bring a watch. I pin it to the inside of my bag. In the old backpacking days, I needed to know the time so I could catch a bus or a train. When I got to Ghana, I found out time there is relative. I needed a watch only to know when to teach. I always woke up early so an alarm wasn’t necessary and when I traveled, buses, other than those run by the country, leave when they’re full so a watch is a waste. It only made me impatient. Ghana has two time zones so to speak: European time and Ghanaian time. The first means the actual hour like be there at seven; the second means whenever you get there. It takes a bit of getting used to, but once you do, it makes life so much easier and far less hectic.

I’ll pin a watch to my bag this trip just as I did last year. I like to know the time when the roosters wake me up.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 15 Comments

“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!

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“I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food.”

August 10, 2012

The morning is dark and humid with thunder and lightning storms possible tonight and tomorrow. Everything is still and quiet. Today is a favorite sort of morning. From the deck, I can even smell the ocean.

I clip recipes from newspapers, magazines and even grocery flyers. I keep them in a folder bursting at the seams. Periodically, while watching TV, I go through the folder looking for something new to try. I make piles of the possibles: appetizers, meats, sides and desserts. This summer I’ve tried different appetizers and just about every one of them was a keeper. It’s fun for me to read the ingredients and imagine how the food will taste and how well dishes will go together. I’m going to be working on movie night’s dinner today.

While growing up I was never interested in anything having to do with cooking or sewing or any sort of handwork like knitting or crocheting, and my ineptitude was of little concern or consequence. My mother did it for me; however, that changed when I got to college. I had to be inventive. I learned solutions for all sorts of problems. Lose a button? Use a stapler. A hem falling? Use tape. Need to make dinner? Open a can, and I was not alone in a total lack of housewifery skills. My friends shared the same ineptitudes as I did and none of us really cared.

The first time I ever did any real baking was at Christmas time in Ghana. I made cookies. They were delicious so I expected a parade celebrating my new skill, but, alas, there wasn’t one. I had to be content with eating and sharing the cookies. The next year I even made pies for Thanksgiving, paw paw pies. I made my own crust for the very first time and rolled it out using a beer bottle, a Star beer bottle, a make-do innovation. The pies were delicious. I was hooked on baking. It seemed I had a hidden talent now brought to light by circumstances like no super-market.

It’s been a long time since then, and I have honed my cooking and baking skills. I can make almost anything and make it well. I love trying new recipes and have enough confidence to make them for company. As for the other housewifery skills, I still need a stapler and tape for those unexpected sewing problems. They’re in my sewing basket, my very large sewing basket.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 8 Comments

“If things are getting easier, maybe you’re headed downhill.”

August 7, 2012

Mother Nature turned off the humidity switch early last evening and cool, dry air blew through the opened windows and doors. The evening felt glorious. This morning is the same, simply beautiful. The sunlight is sharp and a breeze is blowing. It’s a day to be outside.

My car got dinged in a parking lot a few weeks ago. The car before this one I had for ten years, and it got dinged only once. This car I haven’t had but a few months, and it already needs cosmetic surgery. It went into the shop yesterday to get pretty again so I’m without a car until some time tomorrow. On Sunday I filled the larder and bought bird and pet food so I’m set to be house-bound. Mind you, I’m not complaining. I’m happy to be stuck here. You know how much I love not getting dressed and sitting around in my cozy clothes. I’ll do the usual wash up and tooth brushing and maybe I’ll even comb my hair.

My trip is less than three weeks away. I have my visas, the luggage I bought last year, mosquito wipes, anti-malarial pills and a full iPad of books. The only thing left is new underwear. My mother would be pleased.

I bought pencils, sharpeners and crayons to take with me as gifts for the local primary school in the village where I’ll be staying. Guests should never come empty-handed. Franciska, with whom I’m staying, has yet to leave the US for Ghana. She wants to be there ahead of me so she can tidy up her house and clear the yard of grass and weeds. It’s been two years since she was last home.

It still amazes me that I am back in contact with all these former students of mine, and that over the years they never forgot me just as I had never forgotten them. My memories of those days in Bolga are bright and vivid, and they have always brought me joy.

Soon enough I’ll be making more memories. I feel ever so lucky though Franciska would say I am blessed.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 6 Comments

Leaving on a Jet Plane: We know I Can’t Name the Singers!

July 22, 2012

When I went back to Bolga, Ghana last summer, my former students sang Miss Ryan’s song to me, and it was this one. They have been singing it the last forty years whenever they get together. Last week a former student I hadn’t seen last summer called to say hello and said she’d meet me at the airport. She ended the conversation by singing this song.

Categories: Music
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“It ain’t the heat; it’s the humility.”

July 17, 2012

Mother Nature is running amok. It is far too hot for July. The Cape will reach 88˚ while Boston may break the record and reach 100˚. It’s a bit like winter, not from the temperature but from the amount of time I spend inside the house. I am so comfortable here that I dread going out into the heat. Tomorrow, happily, should be the last of this weather, and cooler days will follow and maybe even some rain: thunder showers would be nice.

I don’t remember when heat became an issue for me. When I was a kid, every day seemed the same, a day for playing outside regardless of the temperature though I could definitely tell which days were hotter because I got grubbier: the dirt and the sweat tended to mingle. When I was a teenager, I never went out much during the day. That was when the nights were more appealing. That was when my friends got their licenses, and that was when we’d drive around at night with no destinations in mind. We’d chip in our quarters to get a buck’s worth of gas to get us through the evening. Sometimes we’d stop at Carroll’s Hamburgers where all the parking spots were filled, and teenagers milled around or sat on the hoods of their cars. Other times we just slowly drove through the lot to check out the action. Some nights, after we’d had drill team practice, we’d stop at the diner to have desserts. We’d usually walk from the field uptown to O’Grady’s then we’d walk home, leaving in all different directions. I don’t remember those nights being hot either.

At some time, I don’t know exactly when, an intolerance for extremes sneaked in and became part of me. I don’t like the really cold days of winter, and I hate feeling hot and sweaty and strangled by the humidity in summer. The thermostat has been getting higher and higher on winter days, and the central air has been blowing more and more each summer. I remember seeing old ladies wearing sweaters on a balmy summer night, and I was mystified. My mother used to keep her house so hot in winter we’d wear t-shirts and complain. My neighbors find 78˚a comfortable AC temperature and I snorted quietly when they told me, but I can see it coming. The older I get the less I seem to adjust. I’ll have to keep the afghan close for winter and put on socks in the summer when the AC is blasting. My feet get really cold.

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Marge, it’s 3 AM. Shouldn’t you be baking?”

July 16, 2012

The day is breezy and sunny. It’s also warm and will stay that way through tomorrow when the high is predicted to be 88˚. Last night we had rain. The drops started slowly around one. I know that because that’s when I went upstairs to bed and that’s when I found the dead mouse in my room. Earlier I had heard the ruckus and knew Maddie was the cause of the noise. It didn’t occur to me she was playing with a mouse. That’s the third one in a little over a week. There must be a small welcome mat outside the cellar walls. I wrapped the deceased in paper and took it outside. That’s when I felt the rain. I could also smell the air, the smell of the rain hitting the hot pavement. I stood for a moment enjoying the rain then came back inside and went back to bed in the cool house. I fell asleep right away.

When I was a kid, I never cooked anything. I wasn’t interested in the kitchen except to sit down to dinner. For lunch sometimes, I’d make a bologna sandwich, but I always cut the meat a bit lopsided, thin on one side and thick on the other. I’d add hot peppers to give the bologna a bit of a zing. It was always mustard on my bologna. Even in college, when I had an apartment, I didn’t do much cooking. I became quite adept at opening Dinty Moore’s beef stew. My roommate actually cooked meals for us with meat, potatoes and a vegetable. I was amazed.

I made sugar cookies for Christmas when I was in Ghana; they were traditional in my family, and I needed a connection to home my first Christmas away. I was hesitant as I had a total lack of baking skills, but I had nothing to lose so I gave those cookies a try. Despite my having to sift out the bugs and use a beer bottle as a rolling-pin, those cookies were perfect and they were delicious. They brought Christmas to me.

After that no recipe fazed me. When I got home, I was willing to try anything, even chicken Kiev. After all, I had made sugar cookies looking like bells and reindeer in a small oven in Ghana so I knew I could make anything.

Categories: Musings
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“After enlightenment, the laundry.”

July 10, 2012

It’s another beautiful day. The sun is bright, and it’s not yet too warm. The weatherman says low 80’s for today.  I have a bunch of errands to do later including sending for my Ghanaian visa. I’ve already bought a few things to take with me: wipe on insect repellant as last year my feet got eaten, wash cloths which start out in a small pill shape and a personal fan, hand size which runs on batteries. I don’t think I need anything else as I still have a few things I bought and never used for last summer’s trip, a first aid kit being among them.

When I was in Peace Corps training, we had two choices for washing clothes: a bucket for hand-washing or finding someone to wash them. I, of course, chose the latter as did most of the other trainees. I remember Winneba, our first training site, and following a dirt path among trees to the house of the woman who washed our clothes in buckets for a small amount of money. I have no idea how she was found, but I was thrilled not to have to bucket wash my clothes. I don’t remember the rest of training or my laundry, but I also don’t remember washing my own clothes. I’m thinking we found someone everywhere we went.

When I got to Bolga to live, I didn’t wash clothes there either, except for what one might call my personals. Thomas, who worked for me, washed the rest of my laundry in metal buckets then he’d iron my dresses using a charcoal iron. I noticed the seamstress who made my dress last summer uses that the same type charcoal iron.

At the hotel where I stayed last summer, I asked about someone doing my laundry. They recommended a woman who washed my clothes for not much money. She barely spoke English, but she filled in the gaps by smiling a lot. Always on her back was her small daughter. My clothes came back in one day. When I left Ghana to come home, my clothes, except for the personals, were all clean. That has never happened on any trip before, but I expect it to happen again this summer.

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