Posted tagged ‘Ghana’

« home page
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

“Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.”

October 30, 2011

The rain was torrential last night,. I could hear the wind whooshing through the trees and I turned on the backdoor light to watch the wind blow the pine branches nearly to the ground. It was a nor’easter, the worst of all storms be it rain or snow. Many other parts if the state got snow and over 600,000 people were without electricity. Over the course of the morning, the day has lightened and the rain has finally stopped, and the wind has abated but is still strong at around 35 MPH.

My house has the smells of a Ghanaian kitchen. The kelewele is cooking on top of the stove and the Guinea fowl is in the oven. We are also having jollof rice with beef which was cooked last night. Its sauce was so tempting my one little taste became several tastes.

My table is set with the napkins I had made in Ghana from the same cloth as my dress, and I am using the  napkin rings I bought. They are in the shape of Ashanti stools, the symbols of the powers of the chiefs. The table looks colorful and festive. I will, of course, play only Ghanaian music during the meal and my guests will eat with their hands.

I am going to wear my new Ghanaian dress. I’ll take pictures!

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“They may forget what you said but they will never forget how you made them feel.”

October 28, 2011

Yesterday we had a torrential rainstorm most of the day and night, and with the rain came a cold to the bone chill. The sun is shining now, but it does little to dispel that chill. The sun has the look of winter about it when its sole purpose is to light the day. Some parts of the state have already had snow. Winter has its foot in the door.

Francisca is here. I picked her up yesterday. We hugged for the longest time then we talked all the way down to the cape. She looks forty years different, but her laugh is the same. We are both amazed that we have finally found each other again. She told me she speaks of me often, and when she and my other students get together, I am always mentioned in their conversations.

It is seldom that a teacher finds out the impact she had on her students. You stand there in front of class after class and hope that your words have taken hold and found a home. It isn’t just the teaching of English that happens in the classroom. It is helping your students realize that there are no boundaries. I learned way back when never to underestimate a single student, even the slowest of learners, and I learned that encouragement and faith are far more important than a simple sentence or the uses of adverbs. Francisca was among my brightest students and she went far, even to a master’s degree and becoming, for a time, a government minister. She is filled with energy and enthusiam even though she keeps telling me she is old. Francisca is, as she said, only six years my junior, but I am her mother.

Today we are taking a cape ride so I can show how beautiful it is here where I live. I already know how beautiful it is where Francisca lives.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“A consistent soul believes in destiny, a capricious one in chance.”

October 27, 2011

Today is an ugly day. It’s been raining all night and it’s dark, four in the afternoon dark. Gracie poked her head out the door earlier and didn’t like what she saw so she turned around and went back into the kitchen. I didn’t blame her, but I did suggest she try again so Gracie finally braved the elements, performed admirably then ran right back inside the house. The ordeal was so horrific she is now sleeping on the couch and snoring quite loudly.

My sister has about eight inches of snow. They showed the streets of Denver on the local news last night, and it looked like a winter wonderland, but this is only October (okay nearly November), but it is far too early for sleigh bells ring, are you listening.

My student Francisca Issaka just texted me to say she was at the gate ready to board her flight to Reagan and from there she’ll fly to Logan. I’m going to pick her up at 2:45. She has been in the US visiting her daughter so we missed each other when I was in Bolga. Francisca was one of the youngest students in T2, the second of four years of training college. She was sixteen. My students my first year ranged in age from sixteen to thirty two. It’s difficult to believe that Francisca is 58. I still picture her as the tall, thin student she was when last I saw her. I’m beyond excited to see her.

Francisca believes that everything happens for a reason, that there are no coincidences. She said I had faith I would find my students in Bolga, and she’s right. That Shetu Mahama would go have a beer in a place she hadn’t been for two years and that I would have dinner there at the same time and meet her was destiny, not mere coincidence. I don’t doubt it at all.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“Faith is a passionate intuition.”

October 20, 2011

For the last two days it rained. Sometimes it poured so much I wished for a tin roof. At night, with my bedroom window open, I could hear the rain flowing off the roof and pelting the deck. My house has no gutters so I was surrounded by rain. It was a delight.

Today is summer. It’s already 71°. The sun is streaming through windows, and Fern and Gracie have a short truce so they can share the warm mat by the front door. I was out on the deck earlier just looking at the world. I always feel lucky to be alive on days like today.

Today I am the featured speaker at the South Dennis Library’s Thursday at 2 series. I am talking about my return to Ghana. I hope the people brought dinner!

One of my students is coming to visit. She has been in Cincinnati with her daughter so she wasn’t there when I was in Bolga. We called her while my students and I were at our last dinner together, and she said she had been looking for me, and now she is missing me (which is Ghanaian English for she didn’t get to see me ). How strange, she said, that I am there and she is in the US. When we spoke last week about her coming to visit and our reconnecting, Franciska said it was God’s work. She said I went to Bolga with faith knowing I would find some students, and I did. It was God’s work that Shetu went to have a beer at my hotel for the first time in one or two years, and that I would speak to them in Hausa and that she would recognize me. Franciska decided it was God’s will that we reunite, and who am I to contradict God’s will.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 10 Comments

“Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.”

October 18, 2011

My doctor is semi-retired and only kept some patients, and I was happy to be one of them, but not yesterday. When I got to Cambridge (where my doctor’s office actually is), the door was locked. I knocked, no answer. I waited, but she didn’t come. I rang the bell to her residence which is above her office, no answer. I called, no answer. Finally I gave up and left. Luckily the day wasn’t a total loss as my sister and I had made a date for lunch, and we tried out a Thai restaurant in her town. The food was delicious. I took the leftovers, another plus, and drove home. When I got here, I called my doctor. She answered. I said I had driven there but the office was closed. “I was in Florida,” she said. She looked in her book-nope, not there. She had forgotten to write down the appointment. Just imagine how happy I was!

I am always on time, most times I’m early as I give myself extra time when going off Cape in case of something like a flat tire (it did happen but only once) or heavy traffic (a common occurrence). Doctors are never on time. Neither are dentists. They just keep you waiting in one room or another until they get there. I laugh at the Infinity commercial which says they’ll give you a $20.00 credit if they’re not on time. Well, of  course, they’ll be on time when the arrival window is sometime between 10 and 4. How can you be late when you have all day to get here? Meanwhile, we sit and wait. Okay, I admit I am griping a bit today because of yesterday, but I figure I deserve a bit of griping, but I’m done now and feel a lot better for it.

I am not the most patient person in the world, but when I was in Ghana, I had no choice. I learned to be patient as Ghanaians live by their own clocks. Busses leave when they’re full; people arrive for dinner when they get there; clothes are finished being sewn days after being promised and internal plane flights sometimes leave early or sometimes don’t leave at all. I understood it was cultural so I accepted it and didn’t waste my time or energy on expectations. I just learned to carry a book.

When I went to Ghana, I fell right back into African time as opposed to European time, better defined as punctuality. Here, where we move through our days prompted by the hands of clocks, it is easy to be on time. It just takes a little planning. I always think of punctuality as a sign of respect.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments

It is strange, but I have never camped anywhere in Africa where I have not felt, as I left it, that we all have left something of ourselves behind.”

October 9, 2011

The day is simply gorgeous with the bluest of skies and a summer warmth. It has been a different sort of Sunday as I didn’t go out for breakfast, but I did sit outside to drink my coffee. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm me, and I listened to the birds greeting the day and to Gracie wandering through the backyard grasses. Every now and then a car went by, but it only disturbed my reverie for a moment. Around eleven, I dragged myself back inside to call my sister in Colorado, a call I make every Sunday, and now I’m still inside to write Coffee. It will be a quick post. The day is calling me.

Gracie is on the bad list. Last night I heard a rustling sound, the sort a package makes, and looked from here in the den down the hall to the crate on which Gracie’s food and treats are kept but saw nothing. Later I went to give Gracie one of her Happy Hips treats and the package, the newly opened package, was gone. This morning I found the empty package in the yard. That noise I had heard was Gracie stealing the package. She then sneaked outside with it. No question she knew she was doing something wrong.

I have a wedding to go to today at four. Receiving the invitation meant I needed to buy a fall dress to join my summer dress, the dress which came with me to Ghana. I told my sister my new dress is in the pink family and has a jacket with a scalloped edge. I also told her I bought new black shoes. The dress came Wednesday. It is green. The shoes are brown. Now I’m thinking I’ll look like a tree.

I never should have gone to Ghana. Now all I can think about is getting back there for another visit. When I first came home from the Peace Corps, the feeling was even more intense. It took months before I stopped longing for Ghana, but I never stopped thinking about it. I have it all figured out. I need to replenish my savings to the pre-Ghana level then I can start saving for the next trip. I’m guessing two years max before I get back there.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , ,

Comments: 13 Comments

“Souvenirs are perishable; fortunately, memories are not”

October 6, 2011

The house was really chilly this morning. I was nestled under the covers, and Fern and Gracie were right beside me sharing their warmth. When I came downstairs, I decided to turn on the heat for just a while to warm up the house. The heat didn’t go on. I cursed. Nothing riles me more than stuff not working, stuff I have to call an expert to come and fix. I wish my family was more diverse. I think every family should have an electrician, a plumber and a generalist who can fix most anything else. It should be a rule. I know this will cost me big just for the guy to walk through the front door. I suppose finding out before it got really cold was a lucky break, but then people break arms and legs so that word has its downside.

Summer is making a return engagement this weekend. Each day will be in the 70’s. I’m thinking it’s  a farewell present.

My house is filled with stuff which has meaning only for me. The living room is mostly Ghana. A green basket I brought back home with me forty years ago sits under a table. Gold weights are on another table. Next to them is the top of a linguist staff and an old oware board leans against the same table. Finger bells are on the hearth. You put a round piece on each thumb and a bell on one finger of each hand to play it. I bought it in the market. I have paintings from Ghana. A couple were done by the art teacher at my school, Yao Blisah (though I don’t guarantee the spelling of his name).

In here are bags made from Bolga leather, a distinctive red and black leather still used. You can see boys working with the leather in some of my recent pictures. On the wall I have an old Bolga hat made of straw with a tie of that red and black leather. It’s a funky looking hat with straw straight up all over the woven part. I have an adrinka cloth my school gave me when I left. It is my prize Ghanaian possession.

Lately I’ve been thinking about putting together an album of pictures of all of these mementos. I’ll write stories about why each piece of Ghana is dear to me. I figure maybe they’ll become dear to someone else too.

Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 16 Comments

“His socks compelled one’s attention without losing one’s respect”

September 26, 2011

Today is perfectly beautiful. The sun is warm without being hot, the sky is blue and there is a slight breeze. All week the temperature will be in the low 70’s. I doubt it gets much better than this.

My right arm is peeling, a souvenir from my Ghanaian journey. On the way up-country to Tamale, I got quite the sunburn. I told Thomas, my driver, I had to sit backwards all the way to Accra. He told me I would be uncomfortable.

Every now and then I run into a day when I have absolutely nothing going on in my head. I stare out the window hoping for some sort of inspiration and am usually disappointed. The neighborhood has a barking dog at the moment, and that’s the only excitement, and I’m stretching the meaning of excitement by even using that word. I guess this will just have to be a stream of consciousness day.

When I was young, the tops of all my socks were stretched and hung down near my shoes. My mother told me not to pull on the tops to put them on my feet. I never listened, and I really didn’t care if they were stretched. I’m not even sure if I cared if they matched. I have a friend who only wears white socks, the same kind of white socks. He never minds losing one sock.

I can sew on a button so it stays on. Sometimes I sew it so well I can’t get it into the button hole. The button has no give. My clothes can be wrinkled or faded, but I won’t wear shirts missing buttons. I even have a box of buttons so I can through and try to match the missing one. I don’t sew anything else.

Crooked pictures drive me crazy as do candles leaning to one side or the other. The rug in the living room is an area rug. It came from Turkey, and I love it for its figures and its muted colors. I have this thing about the sides being placed exactly the same on each outside board. The dog is prone to bringing her toys to that rug and play on it. She also brings a biscuit to picnic on the rug. Both things drive me crazy, but I allow them and then go back and clean up and move the rug so it is even. I figure it’s a small thing in the realm of things.

I don’t always make my bed. Strangely enough I did when I worked, and back then I left for work by 6:20 each morning. I think the reason I don’t now is every day has the potential of being a nap day, and I’d hate to mess up a well made bed.

Well, it’s time to finish. My heart is pumping. Two dogs are now barking, and Gracie is going out to investigate. I’m not sure how much more excitment I can take!

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 16 Comments

“Breakfast is a notoriously difficult meal to serve with a flourish.”

September 25, 2011

The sun is peeking a bit out of the clouds so the day is getting brighter. It’s warm, already 75°, and a bit humid. I may have a deck day today.

My usual Sunday breakfast was a bit humdrum. The choices never change, but I still look at the menu expecting a culinary miracle. Today I went with an omelet with Swiss cheese and linguica. I found it boring, further proof that breakfast lacks excitement. It is the only meal of the day with a minimum selection of food. You can eat anything you want for lunch and dinner, but for breakfast, tradition necessitates a narrow variety. I have sometimes strayed from the straight and narrow and eaten pizza, the square slices the Italian bakeries sell. Once I remember finishing left-over fried rice and ribs but I had a sense of guilt. I have eaten eggs in every configuration, but there is only so much you can do with an egg. When I was in England, they added a grilled tomato which did nothing for me, and I won’t even mention English bacon or sausages. One time I was served baked beans, and I’m still not over that this many years later. The filled plate hangs in my mind like a nightmare that still haunts me when I start to fall asleep.

In Ghana, after a few mornings of tasteless eggs with a strange look about them, I bought fruit and had the kitchen make me a fruit salad each morning. It came with toast and margarine, Nescafe instant coffee and evaporated mik. Butter is rare. It has to be imported. The best breakfast I remember was in Morocco with strong, dark coffee, fresh croissants and rolls, amlou, yogurt, assorted jams and a view of the Atlas Mountains with their tips covered in snow.

My father hated breakfast in Europe. He wanted his eggs and his bacon. Instead he found cheese, cold cuts and assorted breads. My mother and I loved those breakfasts, but we were far more like sea gulls, content with anything, than my father. I do remember one morning in Holland. There, on the table, sitting proudly in a rooster cup was an egg. My father was delighted at the thought of a soft boiled egg. He took his knife and carefully tapped the top. Nothing happened. He tapped again. Same thing-nothing happened. The third time he tapped the shell cracked all over. The egg was hard boiled. I’ll never forget the disappointment on my father’s face.

Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 20 Comments

“To be matter-of-fact about the world is to blunder into fantasy – and dull fantasy at that, as the real world is strange and wonderful.”

September 24, 2011

It poured last night, and I was lulled asleep by the sound of the rain. The window was open, and I could feel a bit of a breeze, enough to make the room comfortable. This morning I called my student Florence to say hello. After having lost touch for so many years, I wanted to make sure we stayed in touch this time. She told me it was raining in Bolga, and I didn’t have to imagine the storm. My memory is recent enough to see it in my mind’s eye: the wind, the pouring rain and the sounds on the roof. I miss Ghana.

Gracie and I went for our ride yesterday. We stopped at a farm stand, and I bought a couple of pumpkins, fresh bread, some yellow and red tomatoes and apple cider. It seemed only right that on the first day of fall I buy cider and pumpkins to usher in the new season. The pumpkins, one whitish and one orange, are on the front steps. For supper last night I had toasted bread with tomatoes and melted cheese on top. It was a delicious meal.

I have the worst hankering for travel. I was afraid that would happen. Morocco did it to me and now Ghana has revived the bug. The only hurdle is an empty larder which I will fill as quickly as possible. I figure if I live a bit austerely, I can travel out of the country again by late summer or early fall next year, destination yet to be determined.

I don’t mind traveling alone, but I do wish I had company. Every day in a new place has an allure and nothing is better than sharing the ordinary, the remarkable, the beautiful and, most especially, the extraordinary. I talk outloud when I am especially struck by the beauty or even the oddity of something. The words just seem to fall out of my mouth. I figure the people around me must be a bit perplexed by the woman talking outloud, but I don’t mine. Being a bit strange is often more fun and certainly more liberating.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 19 Comments

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »