Sunday Brunch

Sunday brunch was overall a pretty surreal experience.

It was pretty easy taking a trotro to the Movenpick. There was no traffic, because it was a Sunday morning and everyone in Accra was at church, so Sarah and I were about 45 minutes early. We walked around downtown a little bit, and then hung out in the lobby of the Movenpick, enjoying the artwork and the air conditioning.

I was very acutely aware of the white privilege that we were experiencing. We weren’t staying in the hotel, and neither Sarah nor I could really afford to do so, but we were two white girls who looked reasonably nice and put together, so we were able to walk past all the guards and other staff and sit down in the comfy chairs and loiter without anyone stopping us or asking us if we had an appointment. Thinking about that was a little bit uncomfortable. Luckily, as I expected, Carmencita was early. Unsurprisingly, Alberta (running on Ghanaian Standard Time) was late.

It was extremely luxurious. They handed us each a glass of champagne as soon as we walked in the door, and a coconut to drink (like the ones on the street, only this one was cold). There was a band playing a lot of familiar songs (mostly oldies that I grew up with, like Sitting on the Dock of the Bay) except in High Life style, with Ghanaian instruments. I really liked it. The food was absolutely delicious. I had a wonderful salad and sushi and smoked salmon with capers and chocolate croissants and really good cheese with dried apricots and crème brulée and a cream puff and some sort of berry pie. It was heavenly. We had real coffee afterward, and it was overall a great time.

The conversation was interesting, and we covered a whole range of topics. There was a little uncomfortable part where Alberta was talking about how she supported Romney in the upcoming U.S. elections because of his Christian values. I thought I was being pretty diplomatic when I said that Christian values are wonderful, but the U.S. is supposed to have separation of church and state, and I kind of put my head down and concentrated on my sushi when she retorted with, “The currency says, ‘In God We Trust.’” Other than that, though, it was all lots of fun. We talked about food and school and work, and all sorts of stuff.

What struck me as extremely surreal in our conversation was when Carmencita (Grand-High Mucky-muck at the World Bank here in Ghana) brought up the Gagnam Style video. Now, I know some of you reading this are not up to date on internet culture, so despite my thorough disapproval of the whole institution of it, you can see the video in question here, or just take my word for how painfully ridiculous it is. Basically it’s a pop song, that in and of itself is not that bad, but the music video is just completely absurd, and the dance that is performed is uncomfortably ridiculous.

Carmencita had apparently seen the video in some sort of piece on the BBC, and she was trying to explain it to Alberta, as well as asking Sarah’s and my opinion on the matter. I was honestly too shocked and amused to really provide much of an answer, as Carmencita made it sound kind of like an aerobic exercise, as opposed to the awkward pop craze that it is. It was so surreal to me, that I just had to laugh. What finally had me in pretty much hysterical laughter was Alberta (worker in the IMF liaison office) suggesting that Carmencita (Resident Advisor of the World Bank to the Central Bank of Ghana) demonstrate the dance in the grand hall of the Movenpick in Accra, Ghana. It was just too weird.

When Sarah and I recovered from our giggles and we finished our lunch, we went back to Carmencita’s house for a few hours to hang out in the air conditioning and study for a while, without the constant noises of Madina around us. Sarah was a lot better at staying on task than I was (as she usually is) but we were both fairly productive.

Exams on Monday and today went really well, though as usual I was writing until the last second. I’m just really glad to be done! Now I have a couple of days to pack and get ready to go to Tamale! I’ll have to talk to either Carmencita or my host family, and see if I can leave some of my stuff here. I won’t need everything for my month in Tamale, and when I travel afterward, I don’t want to have to lug all my belongings around. Hopefully that will work out.

I look forward to my adventures in Kumasi (for a couple of days on the way North) and Tamale to come! I’ll keep you posted!

A Whirlwind Tour of Kwahu

This weekend was a complete whirlwind.

Katie and I got up on Friday morning and packed our bags to go to the area of Kwahu in the Eastern Region with my host mother. She brought Nana (our two year old host brother) along with her, probably because he’s such a mama’s boy, he would have cried the whole two days while she was away if she hadn't.

We caught a trotro from Zongo Junction, which is not too far from our house, and is right by Madina Market. The tro ride was about four and a half hours, and it was bumpy and crowded and the traffic was bad. I know, I’m making it sound like so much fun, but it wasn't actually too bad. I was kind of half-asleep most of the way. From the station in Akoko, at the base of the mountains in the Eastern Region we took a cab to a place to have lunch, and it was really good. I had jollof with chicken: a pretty standard Ghanaian dish.

I also had my first experience with the fabled Ghanaian “female urinal.” I’m not a fan. It’s fairly similar to the non-western style toilets of East Africa and Asia, which can be very clean and nice, but are essentially holes in the floor. Still, they were much easier to use than the Ghanaian versions. It’s basically a room with a drain… so it was pretty awkward. It kind of felt like peeing in a shower. Still, it was clean, and could have been a lot worse.

The weather was pleasantly cool, because of the mountains, and as it turns out, we escaped a little heat wave back in Accra that kept Sarah and Holly up all night. The power was out pretty much all weekend in Accra, so their fan was ineffective. I felt bad for them, but I enjoyed the break.

Anyway, after lunch my host mother’s older brother, Daniel who still lives in her home town came and picked us up. He teaches phys. Ed. at a boys’ senior high school in the area, as well as being the Honourable District Assembly member for the area.

Ghanaian politics are kind of complicated. There is a parliament made up of MPs kind of like in Canada, but the President is independently elected, kind of like in the U.S. In addition to this, the chieftaincy structure still exists, and is recognized by the constitution, and there are chiefs on the village, district, and paramount levels, as well as the House of Chiefs, kind of like a House of Lords or Senate in the central government itself. The chieftaincy structure is monarchical, and varies a bit from the North to the South of Ghana, but does not follow the law of primogeniture. Instead, a chief is selected either by the chief’s council (in the South) or by the Paramount Chief (in the North) from the eligible candidates at the time of a vacancy. Furthermore, there are government bodies called District Assemblies (as each of the ten regions is divided into a number of districts) with elected representatives from various areas within the districts, that have a certain level of autonomy.

In our classes, we’ve been learning a bit about how these structures work, and how the political system is kind of neo-patrimonial, and that elected officials retain their power by maintaining patron-client relationships with their voters: for example by paying school fees or hospital bills, or by making donations to community centers or NGOs. In a lot of ways, this is problematic, because it makes politics here even less about the issues, but at the same time, with all the blue-collar corruption (ex. Policeman catches a speeder, the fine is GHC 400, but instead of writing him up, accepts a bribe of GHC 200, and both the policeman and the speeder are happy) it’s a good way of ensuring that some of the “lost” money returns to the people. It’s a tricky issue.

But we definitely saw a lot of those patron-client relationships when we were there. Most of our time being shown the area involved us being introduced to MPs and assembly members as well as teachers, nurses, the leaders of health clinics, and other important community members as the Honourable Mr. Daniel went around meeting them. I definitely felt like I was on the campaign tour. I wasn't sure if we obrunis were some kind of political statement, or if we just happened to be going along with him as he made his campaign, but either way it was a strange mix of fun and uncomfortable.

We met a lot of very interesting people. I had some fun conversations with teachers about politics and development, as well as about earrings with a group of girls that looked to be around 17. I got proposed to in French, and for the first time, I had a married man ask me to be his second wife. This man, in fact, brought his wife over to talk to me, to make sure she approved. It was nine shades of awkward, and my host family did not come to my rescue this time. I told them I was married, and that I had to go find my mother. The latter part of that sentence was true, as everyone seemed to have disappeared in that moment, but they were actually just around the corner.

We ate dinner at Mr. Daniel’s house, where there was a big bag of clothes and toys in the living room. I didn't ask about it, but he must have noticed me looking, because he explained that people from Korea sent these things to him, and he gives them to widows and orphans. This was actually after he showed us three different newspaper articles documenting his charitable donations to widows groups and orphanages in the area. It seemed a little underhanded to me to be using charity proceeds from abroad and taking political credit for the donations, but it wasn't really any of my business. I didn't ask how he got the stuff from the Koreans, and he didn't say. I just kind of smiled and nodded at that point. I had assumed we’d be staying with the family, but in fact he got us a room at a guest house that I assume is affiliated with the school (as it’s practically on campus) that was very nice. He also got a room for my host mother and Nana so that they could stay close to us in case we needed anything, even though I'm certain that they typically stay at the family's house. The room wasn't elaborate by Western standards, but it had two single beds, and it was clean, and there was a TV and a fan and a bathroom with running water and a real shower. The water pressure was pretty weak, but it worked, though I had been anticipating a bucket shower or none at all, so I didn't bring shampoo and conditioner to be able to take full advantage of it. Still, it’s amazing how running water feels like a luxury these days.

Saturday was very busy. We got up at six and went for breakfast at Mr. Dan’s house, following which we drove to a field somewhere and took a quick hike through the field, then through some rainforest until we got to an amazingly beautiful and picturesque waterfall. 

 The waterfall.

Me, My host mother (with Nana in that cloth on her back) our guide, and Mr. Daniel

From there we drove to a little fishing village, though we didn't stay long. It was the hometown of some of our extended family, and they wanted us to see the river, but we didn't really do much there except take pictures. We went to a funeral, but only for a moment, before we went to a wedding, but nothing was happening yet, and the music was too loud, so we went home to eat. Then we went and visited the medical center in the area, and went back to the wedding, where stuff was actually starting to happen. I'm not sure entirely what was going on, because it was all in Twi, but there was a lot of praying and a lot of yelling and a lot of music. There was one point where a character that I can only describe as the MC was talking (very fast) over the music that was playing, and the groom was standing in the middle of the courtyard (it was set up a lot like the funeral from a few weeks ago) and people kept leaving their seats to come up to the groom and stick money to his forehead. I'm pretty sure it stayed on because he was sweaty, which was kind of gross, but they would stick it to him, or rub it on his face and neck. Then either it would stick/fall and be collected by a young woman with a bowl, or else people would deposit their money in the bowl themselves after rubbing it on the groom. I'm not sure exactly what the significance of this was, though I assume it was a way of contributing to the cost of the wedding. Regardless, it was fun to watch. 

After that, we met some more nurses because Katie had to use the restroom, so we stopped into the house of one of Daniel's friends (which is totally casual here) to chat for a while and use the facilities before he drove us back to the trotro station.

Though I think I neglected to mention the most enjoyable part of the weekend, which was Nana crying the entire time. Nana is two, so like all two year olds, he cries. But he was really being a brat, and crying at absolutely everything. Now, to some extent, this is understandable, because it was a long journey and a long day, with lots of moving and people, and that's tiring. Still, along with us for our whole journey was Mr. Daniel's son Joshua who was the same age, and so much better behaved, despite not having his mother with him, and Mr. Daniel not really paying him too much attention. There was one instance where Joshua was sleeping, but had been woken up, because we got back to the house, and as Katie and I got settled on the couch, he walked into the living room making noises like he was about to cry. It was so cute and so sad, I just automatically held my arms out to him, and he walked into them for me to pick him up. He looked at me for about four seconds, and I thought he was going to cry, but then he just closed his eyes, put his head on my chest, and promptly fell asleep. It was so precious. He stayed there for about half an hour, waking up occasionally to look around, before sleeping again, and when he got up to go play with Nana at the end of the half hour, he was fresh and happy and just like new. Conversely, there was another instance in the car, where my host mother handed Nana to me so that she could climb in, and the minute he left his mothers arms, he just screamed and pitched a fit like you wouldn't believe. I think the difference here was probably because Nana is the youngest of his siblings, by quite a wide margin (Felix, then next youngest, is 11), whereas Joshua, who's about two, has a younger brother who's about one, so he's had to learn to share toys and play nice sometimes, and generally be a little bit less of a brat. But really, who knows? It could also be that Nana just happened to be having a bad day when Joshua was having a good one. 

The trotro ride home was pretty uneventful, just long. There were people around me arguing. One of them asked me if I was a Christian (I never know how to respond to that here. They don't understand the concept of being "nominally" or "a little bit" Christian), and I said "Kind of," which I guess he assumed meant yes, because he asked me what church I went to. His friend piped up that they were having an argument about Christianity, so I promptly put on my huge pink headphones and stared out the window. The last thing I wanted to do was get in the middle of a religious debate on a trotro at 8:00 at night in Ghana. Apparently Katie sidestepped the whole discussion by telling them she was a Buddhist. They took that a lot better than when we've tried to tell people we're atheists, so I think I might use that one next time. 

Next up will be the exciting story of Sunday Brunch at the Movenpick with Carmencita and Alberta! Stay tuned, and I'll keep you posted.

Staying Home Sick

Monday was pretty rough.

This wasn't my first time not feeling well in Africa, but this is the first time that it didn't go away in half an hour. Part of moving to a new place is that the food and the climate and even the air quality is all different, and sometimes that can make you sick for no reason. This is especially true if you’re moving to a place where you can’t drink the water, and there are always places to get infected by it. Making the transition from bottled water to sachet water also has the potential to make your stomach kind of upset. And then there’s always the heat and the sun. Sunstroke and heat exhaustion are very common among foreigners in Ghana, and on one of the first days when the air conditioner in the classroom was not yet working, the first victim of it in our group was yours truly.

But this time I was actually sick. I kept on top of my fever, terrified that I would be second (that’s right, one of us has already fallen) to get malaria on the trip. But it never went above 103, and ibuprofen did a pretty satisfactory job of keeping it down. I didn't really need to take anything to lower the fever, except that having a fever when it’s 40 degrees out is pretty miserable. The usual hot/cold flashes that come with fever were just multiplied by the heat and the cold water that I had to wash off the sweat. Normally cold showers don’t bother me here, because it’s really hot out all the time, so the cold water feels nice. But the cold flashes were really good at timing themselves for halfway through a bucket shower.

The day seemed to stretch on forever, but I watched Toy Story 3 for the first time, which was fun, and I hung out with my host mother for a while when my fever was down. All in all, it could have been a lot worse. I don’t know if my host mother really understood I was sick at first. Luckily, by the time lunch rolled around, my stomach was settled, because what she served me was not exactly mild. She fried some yams in palm oil. Now, these were not what I think of as yams, like orange sweet potatoes, but were instead these huge tubours about the size of a loaf of bread that taste a lot like regular potatoes. Anyway, she fried those and served them with a kind of salsa of crushed tomatoes, onions, and the hot peppers that go into just about everything here, as well as Kobe fish. Now, Kobe is considered a delicacy in Ghana, and I had never actually tried it before Monday. It’s a fish (that my host sister told me they “make tilapia” out of… which confused me a little) that has been left in the sun to dry, and then allowed to rot a little bit and then salted. It has a very strong flavor, that was actually really good with the tomatoes and onions, but it was definitely not what I would have thought of as “sick” food. But I ate it, and amazingly it didn't upset my stomach at all, so maybe there was method to the madness.

When she made rice balls with groundnut soup for dinner, though, I couldn't finish it. The spicy and oily groundnut soup just did not make my stomach very happy. I think that was when she realized I was actually sick, because a little while after dinner, she called me out of my room to talk to me. “Amma, do you need to go to hospital?” she asked, “You didn’t eat the food!” I found this kind of entertaining. Eating is a very big deal here.

But by the end of the day, I was feeling better, and I was able to go to school on Tuesday, which was good, because it was our last week of class, and I don’t want to miss it. After we go to our host mother’s hometown this weekend, I’m going to be meeting Carmencita (a friend of my dad’s who works for the World Bank here) for Sunday brunch. I’m excited. She definitely said something about sushi, which would be amazing. I’ll let you know how the weekend turns out! As always, I’ll keep you posted.

Green Turtle Lodge

Last weekend was spectacular.

We went to an eco-lodge called Green Turtle in the Western Region near a town called Busua (pronounced boo-syou-wa). It was a really beautiful place, but getting there was quite an adventure.

Katie had to go to Cape Coast, which is on the way there, on Thursday night to meet with an NGO that she might want to do her placement with, so she met us at the resort on Friday. Sarah and I left home at 7:30 in the morning, and caught a taxi to campus, where we met our friend Nora to start the trek. From campus we caught a trotro to take us to Circle station, which took about an hour. We then transferred to a trotro going to Kaneshi station, which took another hour. From there we found a trotro going to Takoradi, which took us a few minutes to find, and then a few more to fill up. Trotros don’t leave the stations until they’re full, so it can be hard to plan travel time exactly. Anyways, we rode that trotro for a few hours before it started to rain. The rain was pretty miserable in the trotro, because we were in the back row, and the vehicle was kind of a refurbished 15-seater van (now seating 21) and the double doors on the back didn’t close properly. As a result, a few of us had water dripping down the backs of our seats, but that didn’t last for too long.

We got to Takoradi station in one piece, and we called a cab driver (Mr. George) who works with Green Turtle and gave us a better price than any other taxi driver would to get us there. The Green Turtle lodge is actually about an hour and a half away from Takoradi, about an hour past Agona and forty minutes past Busua. The roads past Busua are pretty horrendous, and I was very impressed with our driver’s ability to navigate them in his little taxicab, and have never been more thankful that I don’t get carsick. It’s about half an hour away from any kind of internet or cellphone service, though they had payphones available to those who thought to bring credit cards to activate them.

By the time we actually got to the lodge, we had been nine hours in transit. We were pretty exhausted, but thrilled to find that Sarah and I each got double beds in our room, which we were not expecting. Furthermore, our rooms were literally right on the beach, as was the bar where we ordered some travel antidotes (mine was a Green Turtle Iced Tea) and our dinner. The food was absolutely delicious. I had barracuda for the first time, and it was phenomenal. To my extreme delight, there were also dessert options, which is a big deal, because sweets are hard to come by around here.

We hung out on the beach a bunch, playing in the water a little bit. It was a really beautiful place. We met a German couple, who seemed very nice. The woman was named Anna, and the man was named something that sounded like Bold-hans, but I’m not exactly sure. They asked us a lot of questions about our lives in Accra. They were some of the first tourists we’ve met (most of the foreigners here are either volunteers or students) and they were very interested in things like how much water we drink, and what we do with our free time.

Our second day was our great beach day. Sarah and I walked all the way up the beach past a few little villages to a nice little point. We had a nice long DMC (deep meaningful conversation) and enjoyed the beauty of the ocean and the beach. We went swimming, though not very far out, because the current was almost frighteningly strong. I got a wonderful tan, and Sarah and Katie got horrific sunburns. We had amazingly delicious French toast for breakfast, served with fried bananas and local honey, and I had a tomato and brie Panini for lunch. It was so amazing. After coming out of the ocean, I had the first real shower I’ve had in weeks, and it felt amazingly luxurious. Sarah and I took some fun photographs (to come) in the gorgeous light of the sunset, and we pretty much just basked in the fact that we didn’t have any more essays due. It was a great relaxing weekend.

The trip home was a lot less traumatic than the way there. We actually caught a privately owned tour bus (a very pink one) that was comfy and air conditioned from Takoradi to Kaneshi. Then we caught the usual trotros home. We were pretty tired by the time we got home, but it was so very worth it.

Next weekend Katie and I will be going back to the Eastern Region, to our host mother’s hometown. It should be lots and lots of fun. I’ll keep you posted.

Thanksgiving and Funerals

I have so much to tell you about this time. I wrote this post last Thursday, actually, but I haven't had reliable internet to post it since then. Another update of this past weekend will be coming soon :)

I guess I should start with last Saturday, when my friend Sarah and I went to a funeral with my host family in the Eastern Region.

Now, you would think that this would be a sad thing, and a somber event, but in fact it was quite the opposite. Funerals are typically held about forty days after a person has died, and in the morning it is kind of sad. Very early in the morning, the close friends and family view the body and prayers are said, and it more or less resembles the funerals that we have at home.

After this, however, the fun begins.

We got up and got dressed in the appropriate black and red clothing and took a taxi to the main junction in our neighborhood with my host mom and dad, where we caught the first trotro that got us out of Accra, and it took about an hour and a half. We changed cars somewhere outside Accra, though I don’t exactly know where, and made our way to the town of the deceased, all in all about a three hour trip. We got to the little town where the funeral was being held, and frankly, I don’t think that people there had seen a white person in months. We were definitely the only Obrunis in the whole village, and we really stood out, especially at the funeral. It was held in a field just off the main road, and there were tents set up in a square shape, with plastic chairs underneath them in rows, with a kind of courtyard in the middle where the casket and the preacher were. He was speaking into a microphone hooked up to a speaker bank in one corner that looked comparable to what a lot of people in Canada might rent for a wedding reception or a good school dance.

There was some praying, mostly in Twi so I didn’t follow, and then various groups of people went up to see the body. The woman who had died had been a yam seller, so there was a part where her sisters and sisters in law kind of acted out a scene of buying yams (this was explained to me by my host father. I had no idea what they were doing, or why there were yams being exchanged in front of the casket).

Most of this would not be too weird to see at a funeral in Canada, except that here, so one seemed terribly sad. People were smiling and chatting (and largely not paying attention to what was going on in the courtyard, though it seemed to be the “main event”) and there were people selling peanuts and pure-water (clean drinking water in 500mL bags).

After a little while, all 500 of us or so got up and walked in the blazing noonday equatorial sun down the street to the cemetery to see where the casket would be buried. On the way I got a few marriage proposals, and a few drunk people asked me to take them to America, so pretty much par for the course. We then walked back to the main road and went to the house of some of our extended host family where we were fed, and we hung out for a while, just talking and relaxing. The family was almost embarrassingly hospitable, going out of their way to make sure that Sarah and I had food and water and juice or pop, and making sure we had somewhere to sit, and that we weren’t sitting in the sun. It would have made me uncomfortable, except that they seemed to be giving almost the same attention to our host parents (with the exception of minding whether or not they were in the sun). A young man about my age gave me a little plastic packet, a lot like a pure-water sachet, only much smaller, that was labeled “ginger-gin.” I accepted it, because it was given to me, but my host mother wouldn’t let me drink it. While I was reading it, she kept trying to explain that I shouldn’t drink it because it’s alcohol, and I would get drunk. I’m not sure she realized I knew what alcohol was. Here in Ghana, women who drink alcohol are kind of stigmatized. It’s not something that anyone would prevent me from doing (except my mom, obviously) but it carries associations of promiscuity and lavishness. So I didn’t get to try Ghanaian alcohol that day, but I didn’t push the issue. She told me not to drink it but, not as one would forbid a child from doing something wrong. It was more like she was advising me against it because she thought I didn’t know it was bad for me, or something. Like telling me not to take too much of something spicy. Anyway, I decided it was better to just follow the norms in that instance, and try exciting Ghanaian ginger-gin another time.

 We went back to the funeral site after a couple of hours, and there was a live brass band and a DJ that alternated providing musical entertainment. On the way here we met even more drunk people, and one man (who was holding what I can only describe as a baby goblet of a murky alcoholic substance) put his arms around me, and before I knew what was happening, planted a wet and very alcoholic kiss on my cheek. I kind of grimaced and tried to push him away without starting a fight, and my host parents noticed. I have never seen my host father angry before, but he came over with my host mother, and scolded him so hard I thought he might cry. My whole host family, including my Auntie Amma (who is actually my host mother’s cousin) scolded him and muttered about him, before telling me not to pay him any attention because “He drinks the alcohol, so…you don’t mind him.” I was very upset for a moment or two, though I’m not sure how much of that showed on my face. I was very embarrassed that I was put in that situation, and that my host parents felt they needed to intervene, though I’m glad they did. Still, by the time we got back to the tent area, I was feeling better. All of us danced, and it was a lot of fun. People of all ages were dancing, and it reminded me of dancing as a child. Not because people were uncoordinated and mostly just jumping, like children dancing. The styles of dancing were varied and interesting. It reminded me of childhood because people all seemed to be happy-dancing. They all seemed to be moving out of simple happiness, and the feeling of being on stage on the dancefloor/courtyard in broad daylight just didn’t exist. Some young men came over and tried to dance with Sarah and I, but mostly it was older men and women dancing. It all just had a family vibe to it, because even the young men who tried to dance with me (a little too closely for my comfort) then went to dance with my host family, and a group of ladies who were old enough to be their grandmothers. It was a really cool experience.

At the end of the funeral, it’s customary for everyone present to donate a few cidies to help support the family of the deceased, so after we did that, and the family came over to thank us for our support, we headed out. We stopped at the village market along the way, because it was a market day, and my host family bought some food items that are cheaper in the Eastern Region than they are in Accra, including “aburo-buro” or snails about the size of my fist. I’ve tried them, and I’m not a huge fan. Like the tiny snails that are popularly baked in garlic butter and cheese at home, they don’t have much of a taste on their own, they mostly just taste like whatever they’re cooked in. The two times that I’ve had them, however, they were extremely chewy, like very overdone squid, so it was not exactly a pleasant experience. Still, I’m glad I tried them.

By the time we got down to the trotro and share taxi stand on the main street, it was starting to rain. We tried to get onto the appropriate trotro, but there were too many other people trying to get on it. We ended up hiding out under the awning of this unidentified shack for a while, but then the wind started to pick up. We started getting soaked even under the awning. Now, this shack had a heap of sand spilling out from a doorway. Mostly the doorway was blocked by the sand, but the part that wasn’t was closed off by a piece of corrugated metal. As the storm got really bad, my host father pulled back the strip of metal, and we spent the duration of the rainstorm in this rather dodgy room half filled up with sand (on a diagonal, spilling out the door) with a few others hiding from the rain, including a chicken and about a million spiders. It was not the best moment of my life, but Sarah and I took some pictures to pass the time, and talked, and even sang a little bit. Of course we both had Toto’s “Africa” stuck in our heads from the moment it started precipitating, but we also had a short cheesy burst of “This Little Light of Mine” because it was the only song we could think of that our host family might also know.

Eventually we caught a tro back home, and by the time we got there we were very tired, but it was a good day. On the way home, the windows were open on the trotro once it stopped raining, and it actually started cooling off significantly once the sun went down. Sarah’s dress didn’t have sleeves, so she was getting pretty chilly. My host mother was wearing a black dress with a piece of red cloth tied around the waist (this tying of a sarong-like cloth around the waist on top of a fancy dress is pretty common practice here; I’m not sure why) and when she saw that Sarah was shivering she took off the red cloth and wrapped it around Sarah’s shoulders. It was very sweet, and adorable. It was pretty late by the time we got home, and I almost fell asleep in my dinner, but I slept very well that night.

Sunday was largely uneventful, though I was proud of myself for cleaning my room and doing my laundry almost entirely on my own. My host mother still helped me with my whites, making sure I got all the dust out of them, but I mostly did it myself.

Then on Monday we had our Thanksgiving Dinner. It was held at the Yiri Lodge: the nice guesthouse that we stayed at during our orientation week. There was live music, and it was a lot of fun. The dinner was delicious, even though it wasn’t exactly traditional Thanksgiving food. They did roast a few chickens with herbs that tasted similar to Thanksgiving turkey, and to my delight there were mashed potatoes. They may have come out of a box, I’m not sure, but they were buttery and delicious. There was also cranberry sauce for the turkey-style-chicken, which I wasn’t expecting, but was very good. There was salad, too, which was exciting, because it’s usually not safe to eat salad in places where you can’t drink the water, but because it was catered by the institute, and Rachel (our non-academic coordinator) arranged the whole thing, I was pretty sure it was safe. I didn’t get sick, and it was delicious. There was also jollof rice (fried rice that is fried again in red palm oil with spices and chicken or fish) and plain rice, and more Ghanaian-style chicken for the Ghanaian students and faculty who were there, and might not be feeling particularly adventurous.

It was a lot of fun explaining the concept of Thanksgiving to the Ghanaian students in the program, and they seemed to enjoy the dinner. Hawawu kept asking me if it “tasted just like home” which I thought was sweet of her. They all really liked the mashed potatoes, which made me happy. For dessert, sadly, but as expected, there was no pie. There was, however, delicious real vanilla ice cream with bits of tropical fruit. All in all, it was very good, and lots of fun.

This weekend, after all my essays are done, a bunch of us are celebrating by going to an eco-lodge called Green Turtle in the Western Region. Hopefully we will see baby sea turtles hatching on the beach. The lady we spoke to at the lodge said it was the season for sea turtles to hatch, but she also said that the season lasted from September until March, so I don’t know how much luck we’ll have. Still, it will be a fun beach vacation, and I’ll get to feel good about myself because the whole place is sustainable and environmentally friendly. I’ll let you know how that goes! (And, of course, I’ll keep you posted :P)