Kelewele Junction

Moving On

2007-08-22T01:46:00.000Z

New location means new blog!

Get updates on Costa Rican experience at Pura Vida: www.jillincostarica.blogspot.com.

Together

2007-07-01T17:53:00.000Z

We'd take photo after photo because Katrina's eye was always closed...finally got a good picture of her and then MY eye was messed up.

Playing stupid. Seriously, just playing. (That growth on Tyler's face---also not for real. Thank God.)

Ultimate Bocci on the Beach for Father's Day.

Wine-tasting.

Tico Time

2007-06-29T21:02:00.000Z

A couple months back I announced that I would be headed to Japan this fall, though mentioned I potentially might be taking a roundabout way there. And so it is. DETOUR: I'll be spending 10 months in Costa Rica to get a Masters in International Law and Human Rights from the University for Peace and THEN be headed to Okinawa. I've postponed getting a Masters entirely too long and this program looks like a pretty good fit, not to mention a paradisical location:

Volcanoes, hiking, beaches (both Pacific and Caribbean), carnivals, lots of fresh fruit, sloths, monkeys, jacguars, moutains, rodeos, cowboys, waterfalls, jungle, cloud forests, canopy walks and tree house ecolodges, turtle nesting, snorkeling, white water rafting, hot springs, perfect temperatures, classmates from around the world.

It's gonna be like extended summer camp with a Masters degree bonus at the end!

Already expecting lots of visitors, so book me early if you want to come, too!

American

2007-06-29T20:58:00.001Z

I went to McDonald's (allowed when roadtripping), then to pick up some things at WalMart. I had dinner at a steakhouse where the portion was entirely too big for one person to eat in a single go. Then it was off to the Air Force base.

Could it get anymore American than that?

I was informed that when the National Anthem plays everyday at 4:30 pm cars pull over to the side of the road and people stop and face the flag with hand on heart. It would be rude not to do so. Hey, if I can wear a headscarf while on an Islamic university campus, who says I can't play by military rules? Feels a bit like a foreign country with a culture all its own. And it surprises me that its one I want to get to know.

Self Fly Safari

2007-06-13T21:49:00.000Z

This trip spoiled all future trips - we were traveling in style in our own rented plane with JJ piloting, greeted at the beautiful lodges by the entire smiling staff, a refreshing wet towel, and two glasses of fresh juice. While sipping the juice, our bags would magically appear in our room. Service was great - something sorely missed in West Africa. Great food, fun activities, and good company.

SEE PHOTOS HERE (JJ took all the ones on safari that he's not in; I was only ever in charge of pictures when we were in the air). Don't bother reading all this--just go look at the photos!

We began our 3 week journey in Johannesburg with a Cessna 182 we called Bushbaby (named not after our president, but a small, grelim-like tree dweller in the monkey family that bounces as if it were on a spring). Our radio call name was India Oscar Sierra (IOS) and she had room for 4 people, but JJ, me and our luggage filled her up.

Beau-t-ful Bots-wa-na

We hit two spots in Botswana - Nitani Lodge in Tuli Block and Nxabega in the Okavanga Delta. Nitani was a gorgeous lodge, with our own private plunge pool outside our room, which was unfortunately too cold to make use of. The owner gave us an ecological talk and we held a volcanic rock that was +200 million years old. We saw more game at the second location, including running into two different leopards during night drives (and mildly harassing them as our landrover mowed down the bush so that we could continue to follow them). We got about 10 feet from them, but they didn't even seem to notice. We had a sunset boat ride in the delta and saw some distant hippos, which a documentary made me deathly afraid of. Elephants, baboons, giraffe, and a number of other animals. We also took a mokoro (dugout canoe) ride in the flood plains (no hippos there or I wouldn't have gone!).

We overflew some massive salt pans in Botswana, caught sight of a hippo and a herd of elephants, and I started my lessons in flying! Over the 40+ hours in the air, I flew maybe about 3 hours total and JJ even made me do an approach to landing (which I was trying to get out of, but he just ignored my suggestion that he take over). Fortuantely, I didn't get sick (with the help of accupressure wrist bands and anti-motion sickness meds).

Zim

From Botswana, we went to Zimbabwe, which I had originally been a little hestiant to do given President Mugabe's craziness. We stayed with some people JJ met skiing in Europe about 5 years ago and knew for only a week! (I've always said JJ's super good at meeting people and making friends!) We received great hospitality and learned a lot about the political and social situation on the ground. Our hosts, Hugh and Gail, had a jam-packed schedule for us: boating across the lake they live on to hike in the hills to see 200-300 year old San bushmen paintings on the rocks; a visit to the crocodile farm; a braai (South African style BBQ) with their friends (Zim Tri-Family Fun). We heard stories of how white farmers were pushed off their land by invaders paid off by the government and how those farms are not laying fallow and unproductive. Our hosts' son-in-law lost his family's farm. I can't imagine staying in the country after being targeted like that and having no compensation or chance of fighting the thing in a free and fair court. They would talk about the difficulties faced but then someone would inevitably chime in with, "Let's not talk about such dismal things!" and change the subject. Playing "those are my cows" took on a whole new meaning in Zimbabwe, where government officals really could take your property as easily as declaring it his. I drank my tea without sugar after hearing about the sugar shortage the night before!

Getting fuel was going to be potentially problematic in Zim, but luck was on our side. The BP price for fuel at the airport was $16/liter, whereas we ended up getting it for $1.83 from the manager of a small company with an office there. We were supposed to have filed the flight plane 24 hours in advance, but were only delayed about an hour as we sought special permission (having American accents and claiming ignorance helped and I was surprised we didn't even have to bribe anyone!).

We stayed at another CC Africa lodge called Matetsi near Victoria Falls on the Zim side. The lodges throughout the trip would have drives or boat rides organized and often the rest of the time was filled with eating fabulous food! Wake-up calls varied from 5:30-7:00am for the first activity. Afternoon drives would start after 3:30 tea time and go about an hour past sunset. As the sun was setting, the driver would find a nice spot, pull over and set up a bar in the middle of the bush for a 'sundowner' drink! I particularly like Amarula, a South African drink similar to Bailey's. Two of my favorite animals at Matetsi were the springhare (a cross between a rabbit and kangaroo) and the sable (beautiful antelope that would be a bit unicorn-like if it were to lose one of it's horns).

Flying over Victoria Falls was a highlight and a great chance for some calendar worthy photos.

Namibia

Our next location was Chobe Savanna Lodge (I thought we were going back to Botswana, but ended up boating across the Chobe River to Namibia). This lodge only offered boat rides and after a few, I got a little bored of all the birds! But JJ kept trying to catch some swallows (and other birds) in flight and got some great photos -I never would have had the patience and persistence! Then we had an amazing boat ride - saw elephants mating, JJ spotted a leopard strolling along the bank, some Danish friends from the preceding lodge happened to be on a boat that came our way, and then some lions playing in the distance (surrounded by about 8 safari vehicles!). We also saw a crocodile nearly eat a guinea fowl (so disappointed we didn't see feathers a'flyin'!). We were given a tour of a local village, which is usually totally gimmicky and awkward (children in West Africa always demanding, "Gimme this, gimme that"), but this was not at all like that. The local villagers sang and danced for us and I had a try at shaking it in a reed skirt with them.

Mokuti Lodge near Etosha Park in Namibia was a bit more commercial and hotel like than our other lodgings (106 rooms instead of 10!). It kind of had a zoo feel to it - when we went in the morning to see a leopard up a tree eating a sprinkbok, we had to wait for the 6 cars in front of us to move out of the way so we could get a view. It was also so incredibly cold that it was a bit like torture. I was hiding under a blanket for part of the time, peeking out to see what was spotted. Near a watering hole, we saw a progression of animals coming to drink in turn - first the zebra, then wilderbeest, impala, guinea fowl, and finally the giraffe. JJ spotted a white rhino and her baby - the last we needed of the Big 5 (previously the big game for hunters: lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo and rhino).

Our first morning there we woke up, got dressed and went to have breakfast, only to find that there had been a time change we weren't aware of and that we had another hour til the buffet opened!

In Swakupmund, we visited some friends teaching there (a friend in Ghana's brother and his wife that we'd met in Accra last fall). Swakup is a cute, little town with German type houses that all seem to have been freshly painted in bright colors. JJ and I took a boat cruise in Walvis Bay (Pacific Ocean). The driver held fish up for seagulls and pelicans to swoop by and grab. I love the way that pelicans land on the water - by water skiing to a stop! A seal snuck on board behind JJ for the free fish (about 10 other seals were somewhat trained and would do the same). Once, after we'd run out of fish, we had to speed away from Fluffy, a seal that wouldn't get off the boat without being fed. We saw heavy sided dolphins (who get sexually excited by the vibration from the boats). We also passed by the location where Angelina and Brad had their baby.

That afternoon JJ took Jeremy and Lindsay flying along Skeleton Coast, where many ships have wrecked over the years and can still be seen along the desolate coast. Unfortunately, we encountered clouds and had to turn back, flying south of Swakup along the dunes. The next day we went sand sledding and JJ sandboarded (same board as for snow boarding, but the sand actually slows you down a lot more than the snow). The bad part about this was the trek back up the dunes! They say you can go as fast as 50mph on the sleds.

Our flight from Swakupmund to Sossusvlei afforded us sights of shipwrecks and dunes, dunes, and more dunes. Our lodge there was also CC Africa and the inside of our room was my favorite, with a split level living room / bedroom. You could even see the watering hole from the toliet! And they left art supplies in the room. Even though I'm not artistic, I did a few drawings (of our view, of a faceless JJ playing guitar, and of Bushbaby flying over Vic Falls, an elephant and giraffe. I hope Mom puts them up on the fridge).

We woke up early our first day there to go to Sossusvlei, where the dunes are red. If you've ever seen those pictures of dead trees against red sand rising up behind them (it looks like it may have been other-worldly), that's this place! It was really windy and our hike up the edge of the dune was slow-going. Once we made it to the top, we were told to run down, zig zagging so as not to get stuck. It was actually really fun to do, with our legs in sand up to our calves. In the afternoon, we got to go four wheeling in the dunes!

There was an observatory at the lodge, staffed by a German couple who weren't interested in constellations and were a little hard to follow (was probably also due to all the wine I'd had!). But in most locations we had great views of the sky, far from cities and light pollution. We had already learned to point out Venus, Mars and Jupiter, Orion, Centarius, the Big Dipper (upside in the southern hemisphere), the Southern Cross, the False Cross, Gemini and Scoripon.

Each lodge had different methods of seating us for meals, sometimes grouping us by safari vehicle, sometimes by rooms, and sometimes by ourselves. At Sossusvlei, we shared our meals with a great South African couple.

South Africa

Our last location was Ngala, near Kruger Park in South Africa. For JJ's birthday, the lodge arranged a special champagne toast in the bush with a chocolate cake with fresh strawberries on top and sparklers as candles. They'd set up lanterns in the trees and had a bonfire going. We also managed to see all Big 5 that day. Our driver has been working as a guide for 17 years and he'd only ever done that 3 times before. The next day, our last day on safari, we did it again! Back to back Big 5! We also saw cheetahs for the first time at Ngala and lions up close. Some had just finished chowing down on a zebra and were relaxing with full bellies. Over the whole trip, we saw a total of 15 different DLCs (deer-like creatures).

This trip was beyond anything I could have ever imagined to dream about. I keep thinking this can't possibly be my life! I'm so happy I had the chance to share this experience with JJ!

Who's on board for the next one?

TIP: Bring binoculars and maybe even a bird book!

Bye Bye Obibini

2007-04-26T13:42:00.000Z

I know I've been incredibly negligent about blogging...I suppose I could say life got in the way, but in reality I just got lazy. And the internet wouldn't cooperate when I tried to upload pictures, frustrating me into defeat. Since my last post, I have traveled around Burkina Faso and Mali on holiday and Togo and Benin (once for a vacation, once for work), as well as twice to the western coast of Ghana.

And now, it's time to move on. As of today, I have 11 days left in Ghana. That's exactly 2 years and 3 months from the date of my arrival, 7 Feb 2005, though I'm sure I've spent more than 7 months outside the country and have racked up 15 African countries visited. Ghana stray long enough!

From here I will go to Southern Africa for a three week self-fly safari, hitting S.Africa, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Namibia with my own private pilot. : ) Then it's back to the US for at least two months, during which I will roadtrip from Iowa to California with my parents to see my siblings. I'll also be visiting NYC and Chicago at some point. Sooooo, if I'm likely to pass your way, please let me know so that we can be sure to meet up.

Next destination: Japan. I've already started to try to remember the 4 years of high school Japanese I took and am anxious to see the country that was the first I ever visited (more than a decade---and a lot of international experience---later). If you have any family or friend connections in Japan, send them on to me! I'm looking forward to the contrasts to Africa that Japan will offer...and you can anticipate that the change of location should inspire me to a return to writing. Look here in June for safari pictures and this fall for the link to the new blog. I already have a potential title: Ishitsubutsutoriatsukukaijo (Lost and Found Office---me and my brother's favorite Japanese word!).

Now say "Sugoi" ("Great/Wow") in falsetto and clap your hands together in front of your chest in excitement.

Bumps in the Throat

2007-01-17T23:59:00.000Z

It was about 1 am when I looked in my mouth. I'd been having the feeling of something being stuck in my throat--like a peanut shell kind of sensation--for a couple of hours. As I directed the flashlight to get a better view, I saw bumps at the back of my throat. And I freaked.

This is my first major medical freak out in Africa, which isn't bad considering I'm approaching my second anniversary. I imagined the bumps growing and my throat closing up. At least I had Will next door, but I wasn't even sure what medical facility I would go to. I guess when last I thought about a medical emergency, I knew Jane would take care of me! But she's been gone since July...

Googling "bumps in throat" I saw a lot about white bumps, but mine weren't white. One QA board with a similar inquiry suggested the bumps were tastebuds. Ha. Ha. The other stuff I found said it could be cancer, syphillis, or an allergic reaction. That didn't offer any relief from my hypocondriac-ness. So I called my mother. I wanted her nursing advice, and though it's cruel to worry a mother, so far away, that's the way it goes. She sounded concerned, which didn't help my mental state any.

Then I remembered Greg's words at the Voodoo Market on Sunday: "Don't breathe too deeply---there could be anthrax in that animal fur."

Anthrax!!!!!

A quick Google search of 'anthrax symptoms' diminished that fear for the most part. IMing with Heather, she consulted with a doctor friend also on IM. He didn't say I should rush to a hospital, so that kind of calmed me down, too.

This morning I decided to go get checked out. Not because the bumps hurt, but because I am headed to Burkina Faso and Mali tomorrow for a three week holiday and wouldn't want to have to find an English-speaking clinic there or have a paranoia relapse.

I've avoided going to the doctor here as much as possible. I had a malaria and typhoid test once, but that was just at the MedLab, not with a doctor. I had a physical for work and later a TB test. The only other time I was sick, I self-medicated (antibiotics) because a coworker had just spend 7 hours waiting at a clinic when she had malaria. Ugh. I also figured I'd come away with a worse illness than I went in with from germ exposure.

But my visit today was painless. I called the German clinic at 11 am and was told the General Practicioner was on till noon. Round trip time to and from home was just over an hour. My work insurance covered the visit and the meds, so I didn't have to pay a dime. The Indian doctor thought it could be viral or an allergic reaction. I hadn't eaten anything strange, so maybe something airborne--the air is nasty from the strong harmattan (sandstorm) right now.

Now I have a new local 'next of kin,' a clinic I'm not afraid to go to, and some bumps in my throat.

Fetish Market in Togo

2007-01-16T19:45:00.000Z

All the ingredients you need to cast your magic spell.

Flight over Honey Bear Lane

2007-01-16T15:07:00.000Z

J.J. took us up in a small plane during his visit. This is the view of our house!

Fright

2007-01-16T14:59:00.000Z

Katrina's always been scared of flying. Just look at the sheer terror in her eyes. Dave says he still has a nose print in his arm. This may be one of my favorite pictures of Katrina ever!

Pilot, Plane and Parents

2007-01-16T14:16:00.000Z

Bow Down

2006-12-28T04:20:00.000Z

Mom is the 2006 Schnoebelen Family Game Champion!

After years of claiming we'd write up questions ahead of time to speed up the game, we finally followed through. The fastest game yet, finished in under 1.5 hours.

Tyler insisted on evening up the fairness of the board and revamped it by re-ordering the colored squares. It still didn't help him any. Dad was slow out of the starting block and was sporting his pouty face. And Katrina is still acting as if she were the Reigning Family Dictator...

Advice on Wooden African Masks

2006-12-13T17:42:00.000Z

1. Smell it. A horse hair beard may look cool, but you may not notice that barn smell till it's too late.
2. Freeze it. It'll kill the termites and all those bugs living inside the horse hair.
3. When you bang the mask against the side of the house to get rid of the creepy crawlies and the horse hair actually starts falling off the mask in chunks, admit your mistake and throw the thing away.
4. Hope that the Guinea god/spirit that the mask represented doesn't have striking power all the way to Ghana.

Happy Farmer's Day (in Ghana)

2006-12-01T11:00:00.000Z

My mom said, "Ha! Farmer's Day!" That's when I remembered it's an unusual holiday, even for an Iowan.

Yesterday I took 4 tro-tros, a shared taxi and did a lot of walking all around the city. Traffic demonstrated a test of wills---who would back down (and up) when one car tried to cut off another and there was a standstill (which happens all too frequently). I was in one of my amused modes and just laughed---but mainly because my taxi driver was making his own lane and we were moving while everyone else was not. I went to see my seamstress Lucy and even did some handwashing. So often I go from home to office and back in a taxi, which doesn't require much Africa interaction. I saved about 50,000 cedis ($5.50) by taking public transport instead of 'dropping taxis' and was sweatily reminded that I live in Africa...

And, oh Charlie, it was tiring.

Marine Ball

2006-11-08T20:14:00.000Z

I have to admit, I did feel a twinge of patriotism.

The Way It Is

2006-11-08T13:29:00.000Z

I haven’t written much lately because life here has become routine. It’s normal for me to wake up to the thwack-thwack of a shoe-repair man swinging a tool behind him that strikes against a wooden box, advertising he is nearby for all those who need their shoes fixed. But today, the first time I've ever needed one of these repairmen, they were nowhere to be found! The water goes out sometimes, but not for as long as it used to when we didn’t have water tanks. It’s still a frightfully cold shock to shower in the mornings though (working on getting a water heater out of our landlord). The power outages continue, forcing me to wear a headlamp while the pasta finishes boiling (the beauty of a gas stove is that it’s not electric). It’s not that noteworthy to find the perfect pair of shoes on the arms of a hawker, roaming about with 10 pairs in his arms. He says 80,000, I say 40,000, and we settle on 60,000. I ride a tro-tro now and then, but not as often as I used to. When I visit a specific former coworker, the fact that she grabs a breast or pinches my butt no longer surprises me, but still makes me feel my personal space has been violated. For lunch, I eat fried yams or rice and beans from the street sellers across from our office, though I did recently see a man preparing to cook dog, something I'd never seen before. I drink water out of a plastic sachet. That’s just life at Kelewele Junction.

Crocodile Rock

2006-11-08T13:21:00.000Z

I learned how to tell the sex of a rabbit when I was a 4-Her. It really just involves moving some fur around. Well, I recently learned how to sex a crocodile, and something much more…personal…is involved.

Matt found out I was in Ghana from Friendster. When he messaged me, I remembered the name, thought I had the right face to go with it. He was a year behind me in my residential college and he was coming to Ghana for research for his Masters. He had been up north stalking crocodiles for several months before we were finally able to meet up in Accra.

He’d given a lecture for Zoology students at the University of Legon on Saturday and I joined them on Sunday for the hands-on demonstration. I arrived a little late, knowing that noon generally doesn’t really mean noon. But I didn’t want to be too late and miss everything if Matt had not yet succumbed to African timing.

Though I went late, I was still early, so I walked around the zoo while I waited for the others to arrive. I’d been here once, on my birthday 1 ½ years before. Since then, I’d heard stories about poop-throwing primates, so kept my eyes steadily trained on their hands and proximity to any potential projectiles as I eased by their cages. The leopard and lions looked miserable in their metal cages that were smaller than the grass enclosure that the tortoises got. One chimp, who rocked back and forth with her arms wrapped around herself, looked like she had mental issues and was wearing an invisible straightjacket. Only the donkey looked happy. As I made my way past the younger chimps, I kept my distance. One came swinging to the front of the cage, looking at me as if I were the one worth watching. Some noisy Ghanaian teens came by just then and the chimp raced to the other side of the cage, threw some shit at them, and returned with a series of somersaults. He was so proud of himself, so pleased with his mischievousness. I was later informed by a zoo employee that the chimps are racist and tend to target Africans.

Matt arrived with about 15 university students and they got down to the business of catching some crocs. The pools had been drained the day before to make it easier. Matt got a wire rope around the croc’s neck and let it thrash around to wear itself out. It rolled around and when a student expressed concern that it might not be able to breathe, Matt reminded us that it can survive underwater without air for a lot longer and was fine. The fun Crocodile Hunter part comes once it’s tired: you get to jump on it! Matt demonstrated on the first crocodile, but then students volunteered. Almost all of the students were wearing church clothes and leather loafers or sandals, but that didn’t stop them from getting in on the action. The students didn’t really do a great job of jumping on the crocs—they were too slow and hesitant, which could have meant disaster. Luckily, there were no mishaps. Not even when the two girls decided to take on the biggest, baddest Nile croc. While landing on the crocodile, you must simultaneously grab its mouth, then someone else tapes it shut. At that point, it’s possible to measure it and take blood samples. And sex it.

This involves sticking a finger into the only hole that a croc has. If you can feel a ridge, it’s a male. If not, it’s female. I examined one of each and feel confident in my abilities to properly sex a crocodile. I’m even considering adding it to my resume. So if you ever need to know if a crocodile of yours is male or female, now you know who to call.

I Beg

2006-10-09T19:03:00.000Z

Please, I have a favor to ask. I'm down on my knees.

If you are the person who visits my blog fairly regularly from "Longwood Medical Area Network" in Boston, could you pretty pretty please tell me who you are?

I've been living with this mystery for too long! Give me some peace of mind---or at least a clue!

Sierra Leone in September

2006-10-09T18:04:00.000Z

The new US Embassy fortress...the Regional Security Officer gave us a packet of information. Among other things, it said, "Though most locals are annoying, few are actually dangerous to you." Most locals are annoying?! In an official embassy document?! egads.

More tall buildings than Accra! Though many are unused from crumbling and damage from RUF attacks.

Not just laughing cow cheese this time! We expanded to cup o noodles and PB&J.

Sitting on the helicopter with my roommate Heather.

Street scene.
Saturday downtown.
Dawn view from the hotel (sun was still rising and setting in the same place!)
Storm moves in.

Two billboards or one?

2006-09-07T20:26:00.000Z

Around Ghana

2006-09-07T20:13:00.000Z

Long overdue: pictures from our first (last) house party (Heather and I decided to play dress up; if only I'd remembered I had another purple tube top, Will could have played, too!).

Annie and our favorite waitress, Yvonne, at The Orangery (best pumpkin soup and melting chocolate cake!).

Abidjan Pictures

2006-09-07T19:15:00.000Z

I always end up only taking pictures from cars...The first is a coconut grove on the way to Grand Bassem, a beach area 45 km east of Abidjan. I went with an Egyptian engineer friend I know from Ghana who was in Ivory Coast on a work trip also.

The defining mark of Abidjan: tall buildings!

While We Were There

2006-09-07T18:52:00.000Z

Just got back from a work trip to Abidjan, Ivory Coast on Tuesday, all safe and sound.

A cholera outbreak has been reported in Cote d'Ivoire's main city, Abidjan, with 40 cases confirmed, including four deaths, since the beginning of July.

Trainee police officers shot dead as many as three university students in Ivory Coast on Thursday in a row that began after one of the trainees jumped the queue at a bus stop, student witnesses said.Serges Koffi, leader of Ivorian student union Fesci, told Reuters some students had assaulted the trainee officer after he refused to wait in line for a bus on Monday and that his police colleagues had later attacked the campus to avenge the assault."The police took the first two (dead) away so we couldn't identify them. It was the third one we identified. He is at Cocody morgue. He was a second year student in chemistry," Koffi told Reuters by telephone.

Toxic waste dumped near Ivory Coast has killed at least three, made thousands sick and led to the resignation of many government officials. BBC pictures here.

Ivory Coast's elections, postponed last year until this October, are being delayed once again. BBC article here.

I'm back to Freetown, Sierra Leone on Sunday for another week. I'm tired of traveling!

It felt good to come home to Ghana...like I was coming home. Part of that may have been my appreciation at being able to speak English after Francophone Africa and the comfort of knowing my way around town. And my aqua-blue walls. Even the friendly banter with the immigration official (he took my picture with his special little camera, but I'm sure it wasn't necessary) and taxi driver pleased me. It seemed like I was away a lot longer than 9 days. Heather, however, is in 'I hate Ghana' mode---I always used to come home to Olivier and Jane in similar states of discontent. Guess it helps to be away so often that it's a blessing to be back for awhile and then be able to slip away again before it wears on you.

There are rolling blackouts in Accra now because the water level at Lake Volta Dam is low and there's not enough electricity, so something like every 4th day there are power outages from 6am-6pm or 6pm-6am. I don't see how it's going to improve anytime soon though, since rainy season is supposed to be over.

I woke up to my first yesterday morning! Once I was home from work, I waited till 6pm, wondering if the power really would come back on. As my clock moved from 6:10 to :11, it came back on! Not bad timing at all. But within the hour, it was out again. I got my headlamp working and lit some candles. With nothing much to do, I went to bed before 8pm. The power was back on an hour later, but I was out like a light. ; )

Games Games Games

2006-08-20T11:21:00.000Z

Sometimes you hear about amazing people who do something crazy like travel around the world on a motorcycle, shooting documentaries about local games. Sometimes you're lucky enough to meet them.

Yesterday, we had a screening of some of Tim's films: from Senegalese wrestling, to Mauritanian sand dunes with nomadic women, to a German game that looks a lot like Sorry.

Check out his website (http://www.globaltimoto.com/pages/home.htm) and if you've got the proper software, you can even see some of the films online!

Katrina--think we can get the Schnoebelen Family Game featured?!?! : )

Sierra Leone

2006-08-08T20:03:00.000Z

Flying into Freetown, looking down at the Sierra Leone bush, I imagined all the stories I’ve heard and read in the last year. Maybe story isn’t the right word. My mom used to say my sister was ‘just storying’ when we were growing up and I had accused her of lying; my mom claimed she was just learning to use her imagination. So to me ‘story’ implies something false or made up. These accounts are not fiction and go beyond anything I could ever imagine making up.

Killings and rapings are bad enough, but what happened in Liberia and Sierra Leone was far worse. Rebels would demand that a father sleep with his daughter, or a brother with his sister. Heads were cut off and the witnessing wife or daughter would be made to carry his decapitated head and sing and dance—or else face death herself. Rebels would bet on the sex of an unborn baby and then slash the pregnant woman open to see who was right. Girls as young as 9 or 10, were taken forcibly as house help, ammunition porters and invariably sex slaves or ‘wives.’

I wonder how such perverse ideas could have become standard tactics. And what it would take for it to all fall apart again.

(**Please note that the information above is taken from human rights reports and news accounts. It is not a disclosure of confidential work-related information!)

Freetown is a hilly peninsular city, a helicopter (or very slow ferry) ride away from the surprisingly clean and hassle-free airport. From our hilltop hotel, I tried everyday to get my bearings, but the sun insisted on rising from the west and setting there, over the water. As if this world weren’t governed by the same laws of nature.

I didn’t feel unsafe there, per se. But surveying the people around me on a street or at a restaurant, I assumed that some of these men had committed atrocities. How many hands did that bus driver cut off? How many women had that waiter raped?

Sierra Leone is at the bottom of the Human Development Index. Only Niger managed to slip below as the poorest country in the world. But things were so expensive in Freetown. A take-away portion of fried rice was $7 US. Water was $1/bottle. There clearly must be two economies operating--one for the diamond miners and foreign aid workers and another for the locals. Outside, Freetown, prices must have been lower. It boggled my mind and I subsisted on Laughing Cow cheese and flat Lebanese bread. When it sprouted a bit of white fuzz, I didn't mold wasn't bad for you unless it was green or blue.

The beaches in the central part of Freetown were surprsingly clean, but on Sunday we spent 1.5 hours on the worst road I've been down to get to the best beach, misnamed No. 2 Beach. We met a South African diamond miner there who kept insisting that he wasn't 'checking us up.' He noticed a chameleon on the top of a straw shade hut and went to pick it up. It was in the midst of a No.2, but he didn't seem to notice. He went on about how the Africans thought that it was the devil. He said a lot of things, but I couldn't always understand what he was jabbering about. Maybe that's the shit that gave the beach its name.

We worked too much to be up for a night out dancing, though we'd had high hopes. We checked out a few restaurants and made it to the market, where the women were annoyed if you didn't buy. There was no friendly bantering. I ended up buying a blanket made from country cloth since everything else I could have gotten in Ghana or already had from Guinea. When I got back to Ghana, I was so happy with my purchase---it's been cold enough here at night to need a blanket even with the windows shut!

Our flight back to Ghana actually left on time and, despite a stopover in Monrovia, arrived to Ghana ahead of schedule! As I chatted with the friendly taxi driver, I never once had to wonder what evil he may have committed.

My next trip isn't scheduled until the end of August (to Ivory Coast). That means 5 weeks straight in Ghana now--the longest stretch I've spent here in one go since last October. It feels good to get re-acquainted with the place I supposedly live.

Tribal Workers

2006-07-05T14:17:00.000Z

Here's an article worth reading. From Financial Times: Tribal Workers. ("The notion that one can do anything is clearly liberating. But life without constraints has also proved a recipe for endless searching, endless questioning of aspirations. It has made this generation obsessed with self-development and determined, for as long as possible, to minimise personal commitments in order to maximise the options open to them. One might see this as a sign of extended adolescence...Eventually, they will be forced to realise that living is as much about closing possibilities as it is about creating them.") The article hits close to home for a lot of people I know, including myself.

I've been planning to write a blog reflecting on this article, but I've been sitting on it too long. Instead, excerpts from an email I wrote about it to another American living and working in Ghana. (Read the article first or this might seem rather random.)

At this stage in my life, I’m a little angsty. I realize that I need (and want) more education, but I’m not satisfied that I’ve found the right program, as I think I’ve mentioned before [though I have just found a few promising ones in Sweden!].

I guess I need to decide what kind of job I’d ideally be doing in 10-15 years’ time and then figure out the best path there. Right now, it’s something vaguely like helping people while living abroad, though I’m not convinced I want to live an ex-pat life forever or raise my kids that way. And just what the vague concept of saving the world means in actuality, I'm not sure. There are competing priorities in my life, but making a lot of money has never been one of them. I always planned to have a job that didn’t feel like a job—I figure you spend so much of your life working that you waste it away if you’re in a position you can’t enjoy or don’t find fulfilling. At the same time, I recognize that there is life outside of work and wouldn’t want an all-consuming job that dominates everything else in my life. Like you said, it’s about balance.

My bounty-of-choices comes from an active imagination. I certainly grew up with the ‘anything is possible’ mentality and I’ve been lucky to have it work out for me so far, from getting into Yale, to being awarded a Fulbright, to deciding I’d just turn up in Africa and find myself a job. I’m ready to head off to South America, India, Thailand, etc. for the next big adventure. The problem is, I know that I need to be doing things that are good for my career (eg. staying at one job for a significant length of time, being promoted within that organization, learning a language, getting a masters, etc) and not just roam the globe. I’m not convinced those things are mutually exclusive, however. And so what if I never ‘make something of myself’ in the traditional Western climbing-the-ladder kind of corporate way, if I’m happy and doing something ‘good’? It's hard to break from that culturally-engrained yoke.

Right now, working at a refugee related NGO that allows me to travel on the job and take plenty of vacation, I’m in a pretty good place. Just have to hope my ADHD doesn’t get the best of me! Plus, all those people in the article are in a better position than me in terms of dream options that pay—for me, I know a hundred things I could be happy doing, but most of them would be volunteer without pay. (And then I think, maybe I should just marry rich… ; ) ).

As for dating, the last few years I haven’t dated any Westerners (most generally because I wasn’t meeting any and had the mentality that I wasn’t living abroad to experience what I could have stayed home for). The ‘relationships’ I did have tended to be a little superficial, in retrospect. I was never able to have deep conversations because of language barriers (they spoke English, but fluency is another thing) and because we lacked a shared cultural context. I learned a lot and had fun, but looking back I think I was open to those relationships because they were (emotionally) safe because they had an expiration date. In Egypt and Malaysia, I knew I’d be leaving after a year, so things were never allowed to get too serious. When I was visiting Egypt last year, I meet a guy that I really hit it off with and went back to visit him this winter. I went back to see if it was something I was willing to return to Egypt for long-term, to give ‘us’ a shot. In the end, it was a sacrifice I couldn’t make. But I’d like to hope that if the circumstances had been right, that I would have been willing and able to give it a go. I don’t see that kind of choice as one being made for that other person exclusively, but for oneself just as equally.

Game Over

2006-06-29T09:04:00.000Z

I have never felt as much excitement and disappointment watching football as I did on Tuesday.

Even though Ghana lost to Brazil (3-0), there was still partying in the streets. Ghanaians were celebrating that the Black Stars had made it as far as they did in their first World Cup--and further than any other African team. And losing isn't so bad when it's to a powerhouse like Brazil.

I was hoping that Ghana would get at least one goal---to appease all those Ghanaians that were predicting--or maybe it was hoping--"we score Bra-zil." The Black Stars made many attempts, but no ball would go in the net. It was a frustrating, painful game. They put up a good fight and played much better than the score indicates.

It wasn't all happiness afterwards though. One guy on the street told us to go back to our home countries as we passed by. The girl at the internet place across from our house said that all the whites should go home because Brazil had won. At Circle, a man came out of nowhere and started throwing water sachets at Olivier, shouting and cursing at him once the game had ended. Others tried to intervene and stop him, but Olivier said he'd already been drenched.

At first I was confused, thinking about how the Brazilians share more heritage with Africans than they do with 'whites.' Then I realized it was about the Slovak ref, who was blamed by many Ghanaians for making bad calls (and some did seem bad). The Daily Graphic said as much on its cover and on the back page reported that the ref had tried to get a Brazilian player's jersey after the game--demonstrating his bias. The negative reactions from some Ghanaians on the streets were based on their belief that the ref was racist, not just biased. I couldn't help but think they were the ones being racist though.

Fortunately, these incidences seem to have been pretty isolated and exceptional. We got many smiles and calls of 'my Ghana sisters!' as we walked down the packed street. One group of marching/dancing fans even had a rag-tag brass band with them. My favorite sight was of the makeshift video cameras and pretend reporters: they'd fashion a mock camera out of a hunk of wood, complete with a cord, and another would hold a water bottle up to passerbys as a microphone. Another used a plastic petrol jug labeled "TV" as his camera.

Four years from now I hope I'm in another World Cup qualifying country to see how the hope and pride compare to what I saw this month. But even if I am, if Ghana's in the game, they've won my support!

Ghana All the Way

2006-06-27T12:22:00.000Z

From an email just sent out by a Ghanaian coworker:

"This is what a newspaper headline read in London this morning in a story that was talking about the chances of the English team at the world cup:

"WE'RE GHANA MAKE IT"

Note the use of 'GHANA' for the word 'GONNA'.

This just goes to show that the team has sent shockwaves around the world causing even the Queen and her people to mention Ghana in every conversation."

Yesterday's Chronicle newspaper had a huge headline that read: "Ghana Goes Gay." Oliver said they used the same bad word choice in a headline about the solar eclipse earlier this year! Gotta love alliteration...

"Brazil Up to Dirty Tricks"

2006-06-26T14:01:00.001Z

From the front page in today's Daily Graphic, Ghana's major newspaper:

"Brazil may resort to weaken Ghana's Black Stars before the kick-off with Ghana by unleashing beautiful Brazilian women sex workers around the Stars' camp at night.

According to a German journalist, the Brazilians are adopting this tactic so that the Ghanaian players will be exhausted before the match kicks off at 3:00 pm tomorrow.

Indeed, true to suspicion, the Wurzburng camp of the team was on Saturday, invaded deep into the night by girls and women of all hues, each of whome tried to catch the attention of the players."

More Fire!

2006-06-23T21:26:00.000Z

The government offices, foreign embassies, and international development agencies all closed at noon yesterday. The whole nation was at a standstill for 2 hours, but that doesn’t mean that it was quiet!

Ghana beat the US in the Black Stars’ third World Cup match, advancing into the next round with 15 other teams.

My office set up a TV projector, hung balloons and both a US and Ghanaian flag, although every American there was rooting for Ghana. After the game, people poured into the streets and my neighborhood was party central, with honking traffic crawling because the roads were full with groups of people marching about, waving flags, grinning, and cheering. As I walked down the street in my green Ghana t-shirt over two hours after the game had ended, the level of enthusiasm was amazing. Americans never would have taken to the streets in celebration in this way and I love Ghana for this vibrancy and soul. They would shout out to ask me if I was a Ghanaian and I would respond with a little victory dance to appease them. The spirit and pride are still palpable today.

Next up: the formidable Brazil on Tuesday. The Ghanaians are confident and they want it, badly.

It’s a daytime game, so time to close up shop again!

What I Am

2006-06-23T21:21:00.000Z

The stewardess made me dislike her. She, with her done-up hair and tightened tan but wrinkled face, put me in a situation that required it.

"There’s a gentleman who is nearly 2 meters who was hoping one of you might be willing to trade seats with him," she dared to say.

Immediately I flashed to G and all his leg, squished up in a window seat on a trans-Atlantic flight and I knew what I should do. All the tall people I’ve ever known came to mind in a flash. But this giant remained nameless, faceless-and what’s 2 meters anyway?

I’d gotten to the airport hours early and had been rewarded with an exit row seat--earned it, really. And it’s not like I had that much room, I reasoned. There was the bulkhead--part of the plane’s door--that stuck out in front of me so that I actually had less room than in a normal seat unless I put my legs out at an angle, all the while careful not to encroach on my neighbor’s space too much. He wouldn’t have wanted my seat anyway, I told myself.

The stewardess' response--that it was my seat, my decision--could have let me off the hook, but it didn't. The Dutch woman next to me hadn’t give up her seat and I wonder if it haunted her like it did me. I felt that tried and true American feeling of guilt. I was disappointed in myself, but also unwilling to sacrifice my own comfort.

In less than 30 seconds I had new insights into what Kind Of Person I am and I wasn’t satisfied. I had only one thing to do: blame the person responsible--the stewardess, of course.

Putt-putt

2006-06-04T04:13:00.000Z

I lost terribly at miniature golf tonight and was the only one not to get a hole in one! : (

First time in 1.5 years my brother, sister and I have all been together and Tyler took the opportunity to show us his new animal-taming techniques (last photo by Katrina--she made me come back and edit this to give her credit!).

Memorial Day Weekend

2006-06-03T04:22:00.000Z

Good friends
Good food
Swedish lawn games!!! (Kubb)
Attempts to name a dog (Sputnik, Nelson, Cooper, Uturn, Gustav)
Actually naming 59 ewes and 49 ram lambs, all with some variation of "Jeanne/Gene" (as in Generic, Jeanielocks, Female Hyjeanne)
No bonfire, but an evening enjoying the ocean front breeze

Philosophy

2006-05-30T23:49:00.000Z

My sister was a notorious tattle-teller as a child.

We figured out yesterday that she must have seen a higher purpose to her tattling though.

As we looked over our 4H record books, we came across a project she did as a 10 year old on our cousin Paige, who was 7 at the time. Katrina was evaluating her against a typical 7 year old--the first assessment she ever gave and an indicator that her current career path (clinical psychology) has deep roots.

In the conclusion, Katrina wrote the following (with no evidence to back it up, but come on, she was only a kid herself!):

"Seven year olds know right from wrong and they sometimes tattle for justice."

TATTLE FOR JUSTICE!?!

I laughed so hard I cried.

Material Support Madness

2006-05-11T15:21:00.000Z

Abdi is one of the Somali refugees that I’ve stayed in touch with since my days at the Refugee Legal Aid Project in Cairo three years ago. My sister helped him learn English when she was living with me and we threw a small celebration when UNHCR recognized him as a refugee: two other Somalis, Hardee’s, and some R. Kelly.

Abdi has a gentle smile and shy eyes. He has a hearing problem and a bit of a stutter. When I was back last August, I reconnected with those same three young Somalis. Once again we went to Hardee’s and took a felucca ride on the Nile. Since then, Max has been resettled to Arizona, where he’s learning to drive and working at Walmart. Hussein won an appeal to UNHCR and is now being considered for possible resettlement, but there’s still a long road ahead.

Abdi emailed me last week to tell me the bad news—he was denied resettlement to the US. He attached the US Immigration denial letter. The form letter had the box ‘persecutor’ checked as his reason for ineligibility. I was confused, considering I’d taken his testimony and was sure there was no way Abdi had been involved in any way in the persecution of others—he was certainly the victim. On the form, written by hand, was the code related to his inadmissibility: INA.212.a.3.b. I jumped online and found the law, which relates to terrorism.

And then it became clear: the US Patriot Act was to blame.

The issue had come up at work several months ago, but only in discussion because it hasn’t directly affected our office yet. The problem stems from expanded definitions of terrorism and the concept of ‘material support,’ which makes ineligible anyone who has given support to a terrorist organization (broadly defined as any group of two or more people who bear arms with the intent to endanger the safety of any individual). What becomes most problematic is that there is no distinction made between support given willing and that which is coerced. For example, a person who gives his car keys to a rebel when a gun is pointed at his head and his life depends on it would be deemed ineligible. The law has even been used against women who have been kidnapped by militias to be used as sex slaves—their rape is considered ‘support.’ Clearly this was not the intent of the law. The very events that demonstrate persecution and qualify someone as a refugee are leading to exclusion for resettlement.

Abdi, who is from a minority, unarmed clan, was kidnapped and forced to work for a powerful militia, loading and unloading bananas for a year. On the first chance, he escaped. He did not work by choice, but because he had no choice.

There has been a lot of lobbying against this immigration law because of its implications for refugees. Just last week, Condoleezza Rice announced a waiver was available to provide an immediate remedy to a problem that most likely needs a Congressional fix. This waiver, however, is limited to ethnic Karen Burmese in a specific refugee camp in Thailand. I don’t fully understand how the government can justify acknowledging that this law is being misapplied—that a waiver option is necessary—and then discriminately apply it to only a small segment of refugees affected. They say this waiver is being used on a trial basis, but then also state that waivers for additional populations are not foreseen in the near future.

I’ve still got my Legal Aid connections back in Cairo (now AMERA) and have rallied the troops there to look into Abdi’s case. At the helm is the matriarch of refugee studies worldwide and the founder of the legal aid program there, a 70+-year-old ex-American (she denounced her citizenship during the Vietnam War…if she hadn’t then, she sure would have by now!). I’m confident that Abdi is in good hands, but am afraid those hands may be tied…

Senegal (in Words)

2006-05-10T09:32:00.000Z

I left Senegal with the impression that it was a place I would like living. Two American co-workers and I were able to cover downtown Dakar on foot—it was small enough and the streets were actually sign posted at each intersection! We managed to get around by public bus and their version of a tro-tro (car rapide). I hadn’t anticipated so much rubble, but wasn’t surprised that plastic bags littered every scene—Africa’s plague. There were more beggars—some were young boys working for marabouts. Islam has a different flavor in Senegal, which I didn't get to understand very well in my short time there. One evening, from a secondary story restaurant, we saw about 20 tattered youth marching down the road in two columns, shouting Touba Touba, the name of the city where a historical Muslim leader had lived and a major Senegalese holy site.

Most of the refugees we interviewed were black African Mauritanians, expelled in 1989 by the Moors (who are considered white, but there are also black Moors who have adopted Moorish culture). The men wear big, flowy gowns in the richest colors—green, indigo, gold—with unlimited cargo space in a kangaroo pouch. Interviewing paused during Friday prayers. Our tall Pulaar-English interpreter wore a red Islamic hat and with his purple gown and curly graying beard, looked like he belongs in the next Harry Potter movie. The Mauritanians are beautiful people--something about their cheeks and the shimmer in their eyes. Though most women loosely cover their hair, they’d whip out a breast in the middle of an interview for a fussy baby.

Sunday was our day off, so we took a ferry 20 minutes to Ile de Goree. I’d say it was a cute, colorful island, only that seems inappropriate given its history in relation to the slave trade. It had been overrun by crafts and peddlers, but weaving through narrow alleys between brightly painted houses with blooming flowers and 2nd story balconies, it's possible to imagine that must be what Greece is like.

In the afternoon, while wandering Dakar's back streets, we heard drumming from a tent set up in the middle of the block and went to investigate. At first, we assumed it was a marriage. There were 3 or 4 young women wearing black satin dresses with gold flowers up one side. Their tall headdresses were stiff black mesh also accented by gold. Their eyes were made up with gold at an angled swoop that somehow insinuated an evil stepsister. Women took turns dancing a wild, loose dance, often scrunching up their faces or puckering lips and crossing their eyes. It was a baby ceremony and if this were Ghana, the dancing and fish faces would have been to scare away evil spirits. In Senegal, I’m not sure. The women dressed in black were the aunties and always took the floor when there were no other dancers coming forward. The people didn’t seem to pay much attention to us—I think that if we’d been in Ghana, we would have been pulled to the center and made to dance for their amusement.

More than once, when walking down the street together, Senegalese men attempted to strike up conversations with us. At first we’d ignore him or give a curt answer or tell him that we were in the middle of a conversation. Twice, this lead to accusations that we were racist and didn’t want to talk to a black man. It's a clever tactic, because it is bound to ellicit a reaction--possibly even a conversation because the white person doesn't want such a claim to seem true. The second time this happened to us, my colleague shouted back at the man that he only wanted to talk to us because we were white and that he was the racist.

Over the week, we hit up all the major markets, sometimes more than once. Arriving at one directly from work, we were hungry and knew we’d need to find something to have energy for the shopping ahead. At one street corner, we stumbled upon the familiar cast iron pot full of boiling oil and I fell in love. It looked like yam, but tasted like sweet potato (the orange kind). It may have been yucca (which a google search just confirmed was cassava?!). I was sadly unsuccessful in attempts to find it again! As we got two, then two more, than another two, the Senegalese sitting nearby smiled as they watched us.

The food was a fabulous change from what I can get in Ghana: couscous, fresh fish, yassa sauce (lemon and onions), thiebu djen (the national dish of Senegal with fish stewed in tomato sauce and served with djolof rice cooked with tomato). There was also a discovery that bissap is the same as the karkade/hibiscus goodness I loved in Egypt. And I happily sipped at a sample of the juice from the fruit of a Baobob tree.

More photos here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/49751577@N00/

Senegal in Pictures

2006-05-10T08:36:00.000Z

More pictures

A Concert In Dakar

2006-05-04T16:18:00.000Z

Papa Wemba is everything a performer should be.

He bounded onto stage in a powder blue ¾ length sleeved rain poncho. He wore gorilla gloves---leather with a 6 inch strip of fur. The band of fluff on his hat matched. Under his poncho we could catch a glimpse—when he’d do a little hop—of black pajama pants with white polka dots.

He’d start each song with a jumping jack move or else an air guitar.

Later, when the poncho came off, we saw a white t-shirt pulled snug over his belly with a red amoeba shaped flower.

Turns out that his back-up singer, a French woman with brilliantly red hair, is married to my coworker’s friend from the rural Tennessee commune (not cult) where they grew up. She had been touring with Ivorian Reggae artist Alpha Blondy and more recently got hooked up with Papa Wemba, the king of Congolese music. She hasn’t been able to travel much since she gave birth and my coworker had the chance to meet up with her old friend and his new baby, who were along for the ride.

This concert had been advertised on posters, billboards and TV, but no start time was ever announced. In Ghana, a time would be stated but the event would have started hours late. We didn’t know how to interpret the non-time of Senegal. We got to the stadium at 9:30pm and by some stroke of luck, the music started within 5 minutes of our arrival; the tickets had 6pm stamped on them.

Senegal is surprisingly chilly in their cold season (for someone used to 90 degree humid weather!). After shivering in the half empty stadium, we decided to go to the parking lot to get something warm to drink. Amber and I were distracted by loud music coming from a nearby building and went to investigate. A DJ and three others were in the upstairs room when “Mr. Lonely” came on. The song was overplayed this time last year in Ghana, but by now I get happily nostalgic when I hear it. We began dancing and immediately warmed up, prepared to go listen to more opening acts.

Duggy Tee, a Senegalese hip hop artist with his own back-up break dancer, came on after Papa Wembe’s big act. It was after 2 am at that point, so we were fading from days of working overtime.

West African music recommendations: Papa Wemba, Duggy Tee, Ishamel Lo, and Baba Maal. Let me know if you want me to burn you a CD!

Shattered (updated)

2006-04-27T08:43:00.000Z

When I was asked a few years ago what my favorite place to visit was, I was quick to answer: Dahab.

A backpacker’s paradise on the Red Sea. A cheaper, more rustic, less superficial version of Sharm el Sheik. Restaurants parked right next to the sea. Cushions to recline on. Bedouin children selling bracelets, demanding, “Buy me coke!" and willing to play backgammon—“if I win you buy, if you win I give.” Fried Mars bars, fresh fish, fruit cocktails, big breakfasts. A lovely breeze and always a pink or purple sunset. People worth people watching. Nights full of dancing. Some of the best snorkeling and scuba diving in the world.

And men. Lots of Egyptian men working along the promenade, each trying to lure you into his restaurant, which really isn’t any different from the last one you passed or the next one you’ll come to. It’s these men’s attitudes, their jokes, their come-ons that pull you in or send you scurrying. Most of the men are good time boys, used to a never-ending supply of foreign women who are also looking to have a little fun. Some of the men are charming, some swarmy, some funny, but all are flirts. The men are both a blessing and a plague in Dahab.

I’ve been there many times before, often on my own, so I got to know a lot of the workers. I was surprised, though, that they remembered me by name when I was there in August, more than two years since my last visit. It was a month after the bombings in Sharm El Sheik, just a short distance to the south, but Dahab was as it had always been. I spent the days at various restaurants, playing backgammon, practicing Arabic, napping, snorkeling, trekking to a Bedouin village. I danced the nights away at the boat-shaped bar Tota with the same guys I’d know before, as if years hadn’t passed by since my last visit.

This was the first time I remember meeting Hamada. I didn’t get to know him well, but his name brings to mind a memory. He was short and thin, with a moustache and fox-like features. He was like the younger brother of the group I already knew—a little pesky, a little troublesome. He was on the peripheral, trying to get in. On the dance floor, I remember his persistence, always worrying me. It’s not clear to me now if I was really annoyed or if that was all just part of the game.

Hamada was killed on Monday when three bombs exploded in Dahab.

The first time terrorism has touched me personally.

**********************************************************************************
28 April 2006

I just received an email from Adam, a Sudanese friend I know from Dahab. Luckily, he's been resettled to Baltimore and is safe, but he relayed more bad news. Two of the workers at Moon Valley, a place where I spent many afternoons the last time I visited, were killed. He tells me that I knew Mouafi and Hasham. Mouafi is a name I remember (and not as common a name as Ahmed or Mohamed). I can't put a face to it, as much as I strain to, but I remember getting along well with the guys there. Jane reminded me that we had some ongoing joke about names; I think Mouafi had given us each an Egyptian name, though that, too, I can't recall.

When I talked to Hassan and Mohamed on the telephone a few days ago, Mohamed surprised me with what he said. "Shit happens, but ilhumdolilah we're okay." The first part seemed too cavalier, too flippant. But maybe it expresses a helplessness, a surrender to forces he can't control. He said they hoped to see me in Dahab again soon.

The bombings won't scare me away. The next time I go to Egypt, I'll go to Dahab, as I always used to. But as I walk up and down that promenade, it won't be with the same carefree spirit. I will be walking to see the faces, to know the names, to remember.

Prepare to be amazed!

2006-04-13T15:32:00.000Z

Toggle on over to have your mind read HERE.

No Need for an Alarm Clock

2006-04-13T08:26:00.000Z

I'm always waking up to sounds outside my window.

A couple of weeks ago, a car full of guys staring parking outside the internet cafe, opening their windows and doors and cranking their music to full blast. Luckily, I liked the music. Unfortunately, they chose to do it at 2am.

These guys just leaned on the car hood, thinking they were hot stuff.

One day, they arrived before 6 AM to play their music and flex their muscles.

Some mornings funerals pass by, which involve chanting. Sometimes packs of runners, who shout cadences.

Roosters don't really know what time they're supposed to be crowing.

This morning a group of about 15 wearing all white were marching down the deserted, dark streets. One guy had a megaphone, 'singing' a non-English song as someone else hit a cow bell. They shouldn't allow people with bad voices to have megaphones---and certainly not at 5 am! They stopped their parade at the intersection just outside my window and formed a cicle, continuing to pray and sing (for Holy Thursday, I assume).

I guess there's no such thing as a sound ordiance in Ghana!

Twist Turned Upside Down

2006-04-11T13:55:00.000Z

My mind has been spinning with logisitcs for the last week.

I was planning to go to Benin for Easter. Then at the end of April, overland through Burkina Faso and Mali (including Timbuktu) with friends for holiday.

But I found out yesterday that I'm going to Senegal for work next Tuesday for a week... I'm not sure if I should be happy (to be going to Senegal) or sad (the other trips are off)! And it also leaves me up in the air about what to do for the 4 day Easter weekend...

I've also been planning a trip back to the US for mid-May for about a month. I want to make sure I see my brother and sister, who are both in California but have conflicting schedules to try to accomodate.

My brain is going to explode!

Transit

2006-04-03T11:58:00.000Z

We shared the IOM chartered plane out of Kigoma, Tanzania with about 25 refugees who were being resettled to Canada. They were Congolese, Burundian, Rwandan and none had ever been on a plane. I'd never been on a plane like this before, either. It was a 'face-me' plane, with two long benches along the edges, luggage at our feet, pilot on the other side of a curtain. These old Russian planes were the same kind that the Sudanese government used to drop bombs on the South.

The refugees were in their Sunday best. The man next to me buckled his seatbelt across his chest, like in a car. I handed out chewing gum I'd bought with my last Tanzanian shillings, gesturing that it would be good for the ears during the pressure change. Whenever there was turbulence, we laughed so that the refugees wouldn't be scared. Only one beautiful old woman, with tribal scarification marks down the center of her face, got sick. A coworker shared her Bopper game (a series of buttons light up and you have to repeat the pattern) with the men next to her, including one in a 2Pac t-shirt. They were happily distracted.

These refugees had stayed at the transit center where we worked, along with the refugees we had come to interview. They were given beds raised on wooden crates in a huge room without partitions. There must have been over 400 people in that warehouse. Six truckloads of Congolese also passed through on their way to being voluntarily repatriated. Refugees in three very different phases of refugeedom all under one roof.

Photos HERE (same link as to safari pictures).

Morning Ritual

2006-04-03T09:58:00.000Z

I had myself a long distance relationship while I was in Tanzania.

Each day a bus would take us to work, following the same route. These were some of the worst roads I've seen. It took us about 30 minutes to go what was probably less than 5 miles because of the deep dirt ruts. The people we drove by all wore flip flops. The women had an extra piece of bright patterned cloth, called a kanga, tied around their waists.

Near to our worksite was a petrol storage place with giant round tanks. Each morning a group of men gathered at that corner.

That's where I met my boyfriend.

He waved and I think I just smiled that first day from my bus window, maybe I did a farmer's nod in acknowledgement. I make it a point to return waves, especially to children, though I rarely initiate them. This man--or perhaps it was my coworkers--made me shy, however.

My man always waved, day after day; some of his friends did as well, but not with the same level of dedication or enthusiasm.

One morning I ended up on the wrong side of the bus. Until this point, I felt our connection was private, personal. Those waves were mine. But now that I wasn't positioned correctly, I had to tell my coworker who was in my seat, to prepare her. We could see my man stand up as he saw our bus approach, to ready himself for the morning ritual, which was also increasingly accompanied by jumping. You could see he was looking directly at the seat I always sat in, that his efforts were meant for me. I stood from where I'd been forced to sit that day and waved largely so he wouldn't miss it. That was the first time I really made an effort and that's when our secret was out. My coworkers laughed, perhaps aware of this man's dramatics for the first time. They followed our love affair closely after that.

I managed to keep my seat from that day forward and faithfully returned his greetings. When I boarded that bus, I wasn't going to work; I was going toward that wave. It brightened my day. I was reminded of the Bob, the old crossing guard near our high school--my sister and I knew it was going to be a good day if he waved to us. On the other end of my Tanzanian workday was a cute older man at our hotel gate. He wore an oversized guard's hat and uniform and unnecessarily pointed our bus in the direction of the hotel (there was only one way to go). He was the Tanzanian Barney Fife.

As our departure from Tanzania drew closer, I thought about the sadness my man would have when I suddenly just stopped coming. I knew I needed to mark the occassion of my last day and share my appreciation with him.

I picked two red flowers from a bush at the hotel, not sure I'd have the guts to do what I wanted to in front of my coworkers. Encouraged by my two colleguages from Ghana, I decided I had nothing to lose. And every romance needs an appropriate ending. As he waved that last time, I threw the flowers to him from the bus window and shouted good bye.

The only words we ever exchanged.

The Wild Side

2006-03-31T15:45:00.000Z

There are about 8 lions feasting on a zebra just behind me.

That's the car window on the left. See how close those lions were!!!

A nursing giraffe baby!

There are more pictures to see HERE.

When We Were Younger

2006-03-31T10:40:00.000Z

"The Chasing of the Sun by the Moon"

2006-03-29T13:19:00.000Z

When my roommate Olivier wished me a gleeful "Happy Eclipse Day," I felt like a schoolgirl. I had my $1 3D-movie-style sun shades all ready, purchased from a coworker. The hawkers that convene at traffic lights, selling everything from plantain chips to batteries to drivers still sitting in their cars, had gotten in on the game as well.

Elizabeth, the neighbor woman I often buy egg sandwiches from, laughed deeply when I asked her if she had her special glasses ready to see the eclipse--turns out her daughter Alberta had them and that there had been a wide spread effort to educate people not to look directly at the sun with the naked eye.

The atmosphere at work this morning was like recess and we were even served minerals (soda/pop). A bowl of water was brought out as an alternative way to see the eclipse safely, but I couldn't see the eclipse in it. The day became dark and the moon covered the sun for about 3 minutes, before slowly passing on and sending us back to work.

I went online to steal the above AP photos to share with you, only to discover that these were taken by Olivier, photojournalist extraordinare!

The Masai

2006-02-25T15:05:00.000Z

Our camp was about a 5 minute drive from the Masai Mara, a game reserve owned by the Masai people. The Masai are THE people you think of when you think Africa if you’ve ever seen a National Geographic. They have the big, stretched earlobes, lips plates (but I didn’t see any of those), wear plenty of beaded jewelry and red cloth wraps. The men’s scrawny knees are forever visible, with the cloth draped across their upper body and falling short. When I asked our camp guard if his legs ever got cold, he said no, but that if he wanted, he could pull down his shawl as a blanket.

The Masai are traditionally nomadic people, tending herds (but never raising chickens, for some unexplained reason—don’t eat them or their eggs and this way predates bird flu!). They have been allowed to bring their livestock into the game reserve because of the severe drought, but they bring them back home to corrals each night. Just outside of our campsite, a cow fell down, ribs visible. The Masai man walking with 2 Canadians and me went to help the other Masai, but it took all 5 of us numerous tries to lift it to its feet. I was so surprised that it could stand and even walk, but hadn’t been able to get itself up. When the cow dies from starvation, the Masai skin it and leave the meat for scavengers. The normal dowry for a Masai marriage is 10 cows.

The lions are supposedly scared of the red that the Masai wear (why a bull charges at it and a lion is scared of it, I couldn’t get explained). The Masai also reputedly have a certain smell that the lions can detect. My coworker’s conjecture is that it’s the smell of the cow’s blood that the Masai drink. They tie the neck of the cow and insert an arrow and fill up a pint or more of blood into a horn-cup. They drink just like that, warm, or sometimes mix it with milk. The Masai generally drink blood about twice a week, but not when the cows are weak like they are now.

Sitting by the campfire, “Fast” was anything but that (the translation of his name). He kept closing his eyes, slowly, tortoise-like, because of the smoke. He’d take his time in answering a question, often speaking with eyes shut. He was gentle and spoke so softly we all had to lean in to hear him. The guards at the camp made me feel better, even though they were only armed with short wooden clubs. “It won’t kill a lion, but it’ll help you to delay it so you can run away,” Fast told us. I had seen the sticks at the gas station gift shop in the town before the park and joked that it was a ‘bopper’ against animals. I couldn’t believe I was right! There’s hardly any handle on that thing, meaning you’d have to be close to use it.

The Masai men around our camp wore traditional clothes, with Western style accessories (belts, sneakers, wrist watches). Seeing one on a cell phone was a bit like seeing an Egyptian in a galibayya in front of the Pyramids. Fast told us that the elders are worried about the influence of the church on the culture of the Masai—the elders say that to become Christian invariably would mean an end to certain traditions (e.g. multiple wives). The Masai don’t allow photography, originally thinking that the flash would cause harm but now monopolizing on paid tours to their villages, during which pictures are conveniently permitted.

Better than Animal Planet

2006-02-25T15:02:00.000Z

We managed to arrange a safari on Friday afternoon at about 3pm to leave the next morning, paying the price we had hoped to and had heard was the cheapest possible ($85/day). On Saturday morning, our guide Simon and cook Joseph picked us up for a 3 days & 2 nights trip. An hour outside of Nairobi and we’d already seen wild zebras and gazelle-y type animals (not to mention plenty of free range cows, sheep and goats). Occasionally the wind would kick up dust tornado columns. Think Wild West when the villain comes sauntering into town, twirling his moustache.

It took us about 5 hours to get to the Masai Mara. We had a game drive when we arrived in the late afternoon, spotting (HAHA) a sleeping leopard (led to the location by the ridiculous number of white Land Rovers hovering there, since ours was without radio), 2 sleeping cheetahs, giraffes, water buffalo, a hippo’s eyes and nostrils, plenty of other hoofed animals (hartbeast, dik dik, 3 sizes of gazelle), a giraffe baby nursing. Simon was ruthless in maneuvering our minibus into the best spot. We named our Toyota “Tusker,” after a local beer and appropriately animal-y.

On day two, we had a full day game drive from about 8am-3pm. It started out with a cheetah’s early morning walk (aren’t cheetahs supposed to RUN!?). We saw 4 groups of lions throughout the day (the first batch lounging in a shrubby area so we could hardly seem them, another pair of sisters catching a cat nap (HAHA), another couple nearly mate in front of a herd of elephants, and then two brothers napping later in the afternoon). We saw more hippo heads, mongoose, warthogs (which have such a bad memory that if they are being chased, they will run for a bit but then forget why there were running), baboons, and a black rhino. We saw wildebeests, which are technically supposed to be in the Serengeti (Tanzania) right now. The Great Migration should bring them here in a couple of months, but a severe drought has their pattern confused. We actually saw the border demarcation (an unmanned stone marker) and drove a few meters into the Serengeti.

On our third day, we went for a 6:30 am drive. I’d been hoping for birthing, mating, or killing, but had to settle for feasting. The first pair of adult lions with their 2 little Simbas in tow snacked on a cow. Then we really hit the jackpot: 8 lions and the aftermath of a zebra. A jackal skirted the edges, trying to scavenge before the lions were done breakfasting. He was kept at a distance by some of the teenaged lions.

Safari!

2006-02-17T17:11:00.000Z

I’m headed on safari tomorrow morning! 3 days, 2 nights camping in the Masai Mara (the Kenyan name for what is Tanzania’s Serengeti). I’m actually quite scared about lions eating me as I sleep. I mean, if you were a lion, wouldn’t you eat tasty tourists innocently sleeping under the starry starry sky with just a piece of canvas between your growling stomach and their fleshy meat?

13 Months of Sunshine

2006-02-17T17:04:00.000Z

Some of this was written in Ethiopia a few days ago, but I decided I shouldn’t publish it till safely outside its borders. Just in case.

Most of what I know about Ethiopia I learned from refugees in Cairo three years ago. I went to their houses, ate their food, danced their dances (all about shaking those shoulders!) while the VCR played taped concerts of their famous national singers. I had documented their stories about persecution, why they couldn’t return to Addis Ababa, the very city I’m sitting here writing from. In my mind then, this was a dangerous country ruled by a despot. I couldn’t have imagined coming here then. Now, it’s hard to believe that this is the same country from which they fled. Of course, I’m not from the wrong tribe or an enemy of the state (yet…better not publish this till I’m back safely in Kenya!?).

Addis seems to be a great city. The people occasionally shout “You!” at us (replacing Ghana’s “obruni”), but are friendly. They may not engage me in conversation as much as Ghanaians, but they have always responded favorably if I should speak to them or ask them for help (and maybe after Ghana, I’m more inclined to talk to strangers!). They smile easily and often.

My West African pidgin English doesn’t seem to be as well understood here, so I’m fighting myself to try to speak more normally. The refugee population that we interviewed was almost exclusively Somali (a few Sudanese), so it was back to the days of Legal Aid in Cairo. At one point, I got overwhelmingly sad about Max, one of my clients who adopted us (my sister was his English tutor). He’s resettled to Arizona, is learning to drive, and calls Mom ‘mom’ on the telephone. The people I’m interviewing for work usually have family back in the States ‘sending’ for them in the family reunification program. He has no family. I was secretly hoping that I would somehow stumble upon a member of his family in my interviews that he didn’t know was still living. But he saw his own family die with his eyes. He has suffered so much, yet he is all heart.

The Somali refugee population is very different from the Liberian one we see in Ghana. Multiple wives, yes, but no babies from “just lovin’.”

Back to Ethiopia: Good weather, hilly town, yummy food and tea with cinnamon, cardamom, and other lovely spices. Lots of beggars—who were very persistent. I’m used to the ones on the touristy stretch of Accra and even the disabled ones that panhandle in the middle of rows of traffic. But it’s hard when someone walks alongside you for blocks with his hand outstretched, especially when you’re looking at silver jewelry you really don’t need. I flashed to my mom’s horror at the beggars in South Africa and I felt guilty.

The Ethiopian clock is upside down. That is, 12 and 6 are in reverse positions. So noon is 6:00 to them and 6:00 to them is 12. Our 9 is their 3. Our 3 is their 9. They’ve also got a different calendar—13 months of sunshine, as their tourism department likes to proclaim. (The month is lunar based and the 13th month is only about 5 days).

My mom is so cute! She checked out a book from the library and then emailed me all this stuff she learned about Ethiopia. She said that 75% Ethiopians go hungry on a typical day. That seems quite excessive, especially in Addis where there is definitely evidence of affluence.
My co-workers, a bit older than me, recall the images of the famine, broadcast from every TV across the US in the 80s: children with visible bones and huge, listless eyes, on heads that were too big for their bodies; flies that didn’t get shooed away. Mom’s research found that Menguistu’s regime withheld food aid, exacerbating the problem particularly in areas that were politically hostile to him (Tigray and what is now Eritrea). (When discussing this with my coworkers, one said that she buys bags of sorghum stamped USAID for dog food!!! Good to know we’re making a difference…)

On Saturday, we took a tro-tro (they call ‘em public taxis, marked blue and white) to Merkato, the supposedly largest market in Africa. We wandered past where the tires were being made into sandals, past the Christmas tinsel, past the house wares, and found our way, rather easily, to the cloth and jewelry section. For lunch we tried a fast food joint across the street that was anything but fast, but it was cheap. Ethiopian food is usually served on a big silver platter with thin, spongy bread called injera with various sauces, eaten with your right hand (sorry, mom!).

Saturday night, I met up with a Friendster friend of a friend. An Ethiopian who went to Princeton and had spent a year working in Ghana. He and his fiancé picked me up and we went to a fancy, overpriced Moroccan themed bar. Then, thankfully, we went to a very local spot. Concrete ground with hay strewn about, wooden benches, and performers doing dance numbers to different kinds of music, complete with costume changes. Sounds very touristy-trappy, but was anything but—only locals!

On Sunday, we (when I saw ‘we,’ I generally mean the other two from Ghana) heard about a craft fair at the Exhibition Center. It was only a 10 minute walk down the hill (more on the way back UP!). We bought tickets at the gate for the ‘party,’ were padded down for weapons, and proceeded toward the pavilion, where we could hear the music pumping. A crowd of Ethiopians danced and sweated away in the middle, as we watched from the edge for a song. We decided to look around for the goods and only found another hall serving food. This clearly wasn’t what we’d come looking for, but it was interesting nonetheless. Curiosity got the best of me and I asked a man walking by what the ‘party’ was for. From his limited English we got the first inkling that we were at a potentially political event…The second person we asked quite fluently told us, “We are celebrating the start of the armed struggle against Communism 15 years ago and commemorating the 75,000 Tigray people who sacrificed their lives for the cause.” The money, it seemed, was going to rebuild schools and churches in rural areas that were still missing. I had only JUST tried to alleviate my mother’s fear for my security in Addis by telling her everything was fine there if you avoid political rallies and protests…and then I paid to walk right into one! As the speeches started in the pavilion, we found our way to the exit! It had the feel of a county fair, but we didn’t want to tempt fate. Later that night, I saw the event covered on TV, but didn’t understand a word. Seems like nothing bad ended up going down. Whew!

That afternoon, as we were walking down the street, a bull (with sharp horns!) ran down the road, chased by an unyoung man, trying to corner it. As it ran across the street, it’s hooves skidded and it feel onto its side. No cars were that close by, fortunately, and it got up quickly and continued on down the road.

Later still, I saw some men butchering something on the side of the road. The pile of fur beside it looked distinctly dog-like.

A girl looked over a wall, holding out a red rose to me with a smile.

I could definitely live in Addis. Next up, Nairobi.

Muslim For a Month

2006-02-02T16:07:00.000Z

Morgan Spurlock's newest project (after Super Size Me) is a documentary about a Christian from the Bible Belt living with and learning from a Muslim family in Michigan.

Read about the documentary here.

Cheaper than Monsoon

2006-02-01T14:16:00.000Z

Photos accompanying NY Times article in today's edition, "A Taste of Ghana"

Echoes

2006-01-31T08:35:00.000Z

I've been hearing the ending of a poem my former roommate Andi Young wrote back in college (which I think she herself doesn't even have a copy of anymore). Here are the last lines. I leave out the rest, since I don't have explicit permission from Andi to share it and don't want any of you all to steal it and publish it, because it is definitely that good.

"and i think
that this could be
love and today.

just today."

Comparison

2006-01-30T12:23:00.000Z

From the CIA World Factbook:

Ghana
population: 21 million
ave. life expectancy: 58.47 years
children/women: 3.02
GDP/capita: $2,500
unemployment rate: 20%
% below poverty line: 31.4%
weather (4pm local time): 90 degrees F, feels like 96, 55% humidity

Egypt
population: 77 million
ave. life expectancy: 71 years
children/women: 2.88
GDP/capita:$4,400
unemployment rate: 10%
% below poverty line: 16.7%
weather (current time 6pm): 57 degrees F and feels that way, 59% humidity

Malaysia
population: 23.9 million
ave. life expectancy: 72.24 years
children/women: 3.07
GDP/capita: $10,400
unemployment rate: 3.6%
% below poverty line: 8%
weather (current time midnight): 81 degrees F, feels like 86, 84% humidity

Surprised that Malaysian women have more children than Ghanaian or Egyptian; that Egyptians live almost as long as Malaysians; that Egypt is currently more humid that Ghana---that's gotta be wrong. The population of Malaysia and Ghana is roughly that of Cairo alone.

Reality Check

2006-01-30T11:17:00.000Z

I met a former Ghanaian co-worker Friday night. Earlier in the day, he'd called to ask if his younger sister could come along. In the African style, it turned out to be his cousin. (Strangers can be 'auntie,' but real aunties are called often called mother.) After a few drinks (cringing the whole while from the singer-accompanying-himself-on-synthesizer), the bill came. He didn't make a move, so I paid--for the whole thing. I hate that, but it wasn't unexpected. I suppose, technically, I invited him. Plus, he's now a student and I have income. At least he'd asked permission to bring someone along. (I once witnessed a guy yelling at a girl in a parking lot about how she's always bringing her friends and spending his money. He was so mad it looked like he was going to hit her and some other strangers got involved and "took her fight.")

Later that night, a friend referred to me as the girl with long hair. I looked around and noticed that the 3 other women I was with all had hair shorter than mine. A momentary identity crisis, since all my life I've been the one with short hair. Strange that the people I meet now have never known or seen that Jill.

There was a city-wide street cleaning on Saturday morning. Stores had to remain closed and people scooped out the open gutters in front of their homes and shops. That left big piles of wet icky goop and trash on the side of the street and I was sure that those same piles would be there two days later. However, if I remember correctly, I didn't see 'em this morning, which means somehow they actually got collected. I anticipated that it would sit there on the road until rain washed it right back into the gutter. Ghana 1-Jill 0. Bravo!

In the evening, I accompanied an American friend to her Ghanaian friend's bday bash as her 'wingman.' It was a high society party--not only rich people, but powerful ones (eg the man dubbed most likely to be the next president has strategy meetings at this guy's house). It was a DJ-ed, catered sit-down dinner in a backyard garden with pool. Spent most of the night talking with a successful young Nigerian who has traveled the world playing rugby, went to BU, speaks with a British accent, and only talked about himself (and he couldn't even redeem himself on the dance floor). Meanwhile, A. impressed me with her ability to talk intelligibly about IT issues, cars, and football (soccer). I was taking notes.

Sunday was a lazy day, spent holed up at W.'s house, watching movies and football, doing laundry, and ordering food in. Same as last weekend. Bliss.

Postcards

2006-01-20T23:27:00.000Z

Out of Shape
(Pete, Olivier, Naz, Katie, Gaby, Ali, Kelly, Haitham, Will, me, Jane, Annie)
Basketball in Accra, Dec 2005

Two Worlds Collide
(J beside me, S in front)
Malaysians in NYC, Dec 2005

Dad's proud (?) to wear BOTH his daughters' Christmas presents
(Katrina: key to getting left eye to remain open in digital pix---use red eye reducation so it flashes differently!)

Best Blog Reader of the Year Award
To my cousin Missy

Not Just Fair Weather Friends
Jan 1st Bonfire

Prince Charming, wearing the scarf I knitted him

(A few more pictures here.)

Trippin'

2006-01-20T22:53:00.000Z

I only just got back and off I go again:

My first day back in Ghana, I was offered the chance to go "on loan" to our sister organization in Nairobi, Kenya. In two weeks' time, I will be in East Africa (map)! Circuit rides to Addis Abba, Ethiopia (about 9 days), Kampala, Uganda (5 days) and Kigoma, Tanzania (2 weeks) included! Kigoma is in the northwest part of Tanzania, on Lake Tanganyika and near to the Congo border. It is also close to the national park where Jane Goodall has done all her chimp work. The total trip will be 6 weeks. I'm not sure how much time off I'll have while there, but I'll certainly come home with extra vacation days and money in the pocket from the per diem! Hot damn. (Possible overland trip through Burkina Faso and Mali for two weeks at the beginning of May with two friends as a result?!)

It's a bit of a coup that I get to go. I was technically 7th in line, with 3 spots open to those with the most seniority. 2 struck out because they're not Americans and aren't eligible, 2 resigned just before the trip was announced. After only 5 months on the job (and already a trip to Guinea and a 31 day paid holiday), my timing seems to have been impeccable.

Salam

2006-01-15T14:20:00.001Z

All attempts to find a fortune teller have ended fruitlessly.

Here is what I know: I could be happy here, with him. Only I'm not sure it's the life I want. I'm not sure that I want to know how my story ends already, to forego further adventures, new countries, more exploration. Of course, this could be a whole new kind of adventure. One that takes as much courage (maybe more) as getting on a plane bound for a new destination. I know I can't go on moving from country to country forever (particularly the lovin' n leavin' bit). I've had my first glimpse of the possibility of 'settling down' and I think that will feel mighty fine--in the right circumstances. I feel strong, very alive, and a little bit of hurt.

I received an email from a friend last month, updating me on her life: "fell smashing in love (over so soon yet a good experience)." I could certainly plagarize the first half of that statement.

As for the second, not just yet.

Progress

2006-01-07T04:45:00.000Z

Seven and a half years ago was really the first time I left home. Driving out East to college, we had to stop even before we left Illinois so I could throw up in a gas station bathroom. I was a wreck; nervous, hesitant, sad, anxious, unsure.

Junior year spring semester I didn't fare much better as I packed up to go to Egypt for a semester abroad. My college boyfriend was going to be in Central America and I just couldn't imagine being at Yale without him. So I went to Cairo. But the two weeks leading up to that departure, I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't stop crying. Of course, there was the added drama of a boy, but it was also about leaving and going into the unknown. My mom would play a "Worse Case Scenario" game, imagining ridiculous things that always made me laugh and left me feeling a little bit better. First couple of weeks, I was sure it was the worst decision of my life--now I'm sure it was one of the best.

The first month of my senior year, my emotional and mental anxieties once again manifested themselves physically and I could hardly eat; it was a burpy, gastrological time of my life, brought out no doubt by the uncertainty of the future. Life After College. Now that's over, I'm repeately faced with Life After...Life? Always seems like I'm coming or going, but I'm much better at it now.

Returning to Egypt was easier. Been there, done that. Knew Amber would be there to back me up. I can't remember my departure to Malaysia, but I don't think it was too traumatic (though Christmas away WAS rough). A year ago last Feb, I was headed off to Ghana. I didn't know anyone there and didn't have a paying job. But I went and now I'm going again. It's no longer a big question mark: job, friends, apartment--Check. Already beginning to daydream about the next destination.

I'm not saying it's easy. I'm just saying, I know the routine. 'Round about Wednesday, I couldn't really eat my breakfast. Thursday night I didn't sleep so well. Tonight, again, I found it difficult to eat and could cry at the drop of a hat. (I was also really cold, but I think that's just the weather and my weakened tropical constitution.) The rest is part of the process I've come to recognize. I'm focused on the leaving and that's tough, but I'll make it through it.

Though I'm off into the known this time, there's a slight hiccup--the stop in Cairo. Prince Charming may be waiting for me there, but I'll be leaving after only 8 days. 8 days of fantasy, not real life. It will be a wonderful and awful trip.

As I approach this Unknown, this adventure, I am trying to keep in mind the compliment that a friend gave me in college; she told me that she thought I was brave because I'm not afraid to feel my feelings. I didn't think of it as being true then, but since August, I've been trying to live like it is. It wasn't an easy decision to go out on a limb, to "go see about a boy." But then again, it wouldn't have been easy to just walk away and close that book so prematurely; there would have always been a question mark left behind. Once I made my decision about going to visit him, I felt courageous, daring, romantic. That's the person I want to be. (I love that line in "Love Actually" when the little boy says, "Let's go get our asses kicked by love.")

I've never felt life was a "choose your own adventure" book as much as I do now. Only no re-dos and I can't control other people's words or choices. Only my own. Honesty and clarity (and a few magical moments) is what I hope for. Insha'allah.

New Year's Fortune Cookie

2006-01-01T22:17:00.000Z

First to the party, I picked my cookie and hid it in my shoe till we could open them later, all together. I wanted that one to be mine.

"Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure."

Iowa: You Make Me Smile

2005-12-22T15:46:00.000Z

While in NYC, I was lucky enough to have a drink with two of my Malaysian friends (visiting on a short exchange program for young professionals). Crazy to see them halfway around the world more than a year later. Jack, as always, teaching me new words and using English better then me. Sharizal, healing from a car accident and stylish as ever with sunglasses, hat and cane. It was great to see you both!

Back in Iowa...

Got a haircut (first in 10 months!)
Went to the dentist
Drove (!)
Visited my cousin and her 2-wk old baby boy
Survived the mall without shellshock. All my shopping was easily finished in Africa, but was accompanying my procrastinating sister! The bag I brought home will go back full of provisions for me, since all contents will be parceled out for the holidays.

I'm sad I can't enjoy unlimited hot showers---my skin is so dry and my lips so chapped! I think I prefer the grease monkey I am in Ghana's humidity.

I am unskillfully answering the standard questions: Do you like Ghana? How does it compare to Egypt and Malaysia? I miss my favorite inquisitors R. and M., who always ask me the most thought-provoking questions (and cook really yummy food and provide me with the image of the family I aspire to have one day).

Happy Holidays! Enjoy the time with your loved ones---I will be!

Landed

2005-12-17T13:44:00.000Z

I'm sitting in a 30th floor apartment on the Upper East side of Manhattan with a great view. The weather, though cold for me, is almost 50. Thank goodness I'm being eased into winter.

No hitches in the flight, no public transit worker strike when my plane got it. Friend waiting at airport with coat and, better yet, homemade brownies. She'd remembered it's my favorite. Subwayed to Katrina. Hot shower, Thai food.

I can drink water from the tap.

I blend in (I think I like standing out).

On the flight between Accra and Lagos (transit): Someone's phone made the rooster sound and this totally pimped out Nigerian guy goes, "Nani kore?!" I blinked twice, cocked my head to the side and asked him if he'd just spoken Japanese, thinking something in a local Nigerian language might just had the same sounding words with a different meaning. Yep, he had exclaimed, like a little Japanese schoolgirl, "What's that?!"

Laundry List

2005-12-14T07:39:00.000Z

Here are my notes from my trip in Guinea. Sorry it's not much, but at least it's something. I couldn't bring myself to blog then because 1) exhausted and 2) French keyboards.

men taller
more colorful
"busted"
roads not as bad as was expecting
Customs women at airport: out for blood. If women ruled world, myabe NOT be such a good idea...
coworkers complaining
women with babies on backs, loads on head, same as in Ghana
their version of tro-tros are mini-vans with chain-sawed out triangles in back for (minimal) air
Plane was tro-tro like, jumping from Nigeria, Ghana, Ivory Coast, to Guinea. Abijan, Ivory Coast was full of waterways, as was Conakry, Guinea. Water more incorporated into city layout than in Accra.
Women with heads covered but also some in slip dresses. Saw a couple of young women washing clothes in bras on side of street
mosques, not churches
street signs clearly marked
I had problems with decimal point in converting/calculating costs
A papaya costs $.50 (in Ghana it's $.20)
Had to buy knife and spoon at market so that I could then eat papaya
ate banana that was big and fat and disgusting---turned out to be an apple-banana. more dense, less mush, left icky film on my teeth
just speaking English and smiling: hard to be in a place where back-up language is French, which I don't speak
lots of men sitting around
need to bring flashlight next time
power outages at least 4x/day...luckily never in elevator when lights out

Where I Am

2005-12-13T13:40:00.001Z

I got back from Guinea about 1.5 weeks ago. After a quiet Monday back at work, I began another circuit ride in Ghana. That's why there' s been no time to blog! Working early, short lunches, staying late. Weekends have been full of Christmas shopping.

I played basketball on Sunday for the first time in years. I feel it all over my body now, but can't wait to do it again! It was the birthday celebration for a girl who played bball at Duke (that means she's GOOD!) and was followed by some yummy Eritrean food. In the second game, Boys Vs. Girls, the girls took a strong lead: 5-1. But in a hotly contested game, the boys squeaked by for a final score of 7-6 (each bucket was one point). Only a few injuries were sustained (dislocated shoulder, 2 bumps on foreheads, a cut by an eye from glasses getting knocked). Next time (which will have to be January since so many of us are traveling), volleyball!

I leave on Thursday for the US via NYC (2 days). Looking forward to connecting up with people after my longest absence yet (10 months)!!!! Drop me an email with your current contact info!

Mish Mash

2005-11-16T11:55:00.000Z

Tested

I found out last week that my brain is neither male nor female, but perfectly neutral. I took a 6-part Brain Sex ID test on the Science and Nature section of BBC's website.

I found out:

that I am good at identifying people's emotions by their eyes (perfect score)
that I prefer male faces with more feminine traits
that men (and me) generally have a ring finger that is longer than their index finger, which gives them a lower ratio than women, whose ring and index fingers are usually of equal length. "It's thought that the ratio is governed by the amount of testosterone you were exposed to in your mother's womb. Studies have found that men and women with lots of brothers generally have more masculine finger ratio."
that men have the lowest levels of testosterone in the springtime.
that, on average, women use 15,000 words a day while men use 7,000.
"Women took about twice as long as men to end their online instant messenging conversations in a 2003 study of US university students. The study, which was published in the Journal of Language and Social Psychology, also found that women were much more likely to use emoticons (representations of emotions using punctuation marks). The most popular emoticon was the smiley face :- ) "

I also took the How Disgusting quiz, where you rate disgusted you are by various pictures. "This experiment was designed to test the theory that disgust evolved to protect us from disease. The more something resembles a disease threat, the more disgusting it should be."

A Winning Weekend

Friday night (Happy Birthday, Tyler!) I was in a bit of an anti-social mood, but managed to rally a bit for a few hands of poker. I'd seen Texas Hold'em on late night TV in the States, but this was my first time to play. No money changed hands. Pete kept up his role from the Murder Mystery party of being a drunk-losing-gambler, but no suspenders this time. : )

On Saturday, I had great success shopping for Christmas presents (already know what's to be had at the market, so hit up the nice stores/craft galleries). We went to the new A&C Shopping Mall, which is unlike anything I've ever seen in Ghana before. I think I could safely say it was like going to Disneyworld: Ben&Jerry's at the supermarket; Victoria's Secret at the store upstairs; "The Scoop," which only sells soy-based ice cream; a huge kiddie play area; a roller-blade/skateboard skate ramp; parking spots delineated by painted lines. And to think you have to go way out to the 'Burbs and then down a dirt road to get there...Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road!!! (Now I'm mixing my metaphors!)

Ended the afternoon with a great lunch at the Orangery: pumpkin soup and crabbed cream crepe (say THAT, or my other favorite 'pasta with prawns, pinenuts and peppers,' 10 times fast. I attempted to watch a coworker's burnt DVD of Labyrithn (David Bowie, very old school), which unfortunately it didn't work. I made brownies! and had a yummy chicken-mango-avocado salad for dinner. Jane bought us a backgammon board at a garage sale (so now we don't have to use the cardboard one I made, which is good because without dice, we were left to draw numbers from a cup). I headed over to Annie's to sleep peacefully (no water at our house from Thursday night to Monday morning).

I woke up well-rested Sunday morning, having dreamt that I went to get my hair cut and the woman chopped it to college-length-spikes; I was in a tizzy because that meant no one at home would see my luscious locks. Annie and I leisurely got ready to go to the beach, snacking on fresh fruit, Japanese rice crackers and some cream cheese spread, plus she made us eggs and I got Roobis tea. We headed to the beach and had no traffic problems and since Annie was driving, I could request a pee break, no problemo! The perks of non-tro-tro travel. We arrived at the same time as our other friends and we spent the day sun-burn free. No traffic problems on the return, either. Another hot shower and some leftovers, and I was ready to crash.

It was a fabulous weekend!

And I heard that Yale beat Harvard in a triple-overtime battle, 30-24. Yea, Bulldogs!

On the Move

I leave tomorrow morning for Guinea on a 10-day work trip to interview/process refugees (mostly Liberian and Sierra Leonians). I'll be working through Thanksgiving, my first sans turkey (at least I got to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving last month). Enjoy the food and spending time with your loved ones!

Playtime

2005-11-16T10:41:00.000Z

The Murder Mystery Dinner was a grand success, thanks to Jane and Annie! Everyone got really into it and showed up with great costumes.

I was Carrie Crooner-Ravioli, a 19 year old aspiring singer and the new wife of the Godfather character. Tyler was Mayor Bill Bumpkin and put on some pounds for the role, uglified himself with a carsalesman-type mustache, and used a jolly politician voice throughout the evening.

Contrary to what Jane said, I knew I didn’t HAVE to perform, but figured I might as well have some fun…I even got to do a costume change before dancing to Madonna’s "I’m Going Bananas" (complete with banana prop).

Ad lib: "Oh no! I'm pregnant and now my baby won't have a father!"

Thanks so much, Annie and Jane!

For more photos, go to Jane's blog.

Tyler's Guest Blog (I'll resist the temptation to editorialize!)

2005-11-16T10:18:00.000Z

Jill's apartment has two doors--one wooden that locks with a bolt and another outside of that, which is big, heavy, iron and locked with a padlock (there's a big hole so you can reach around and lock/unlock it even if you're locked up behind it). It was this big, heavy, iron door that Jill used to slam my right thumb while I was trying to close the padlock. She seemed genuinely apologetic. But on Saturday she won the "Best Actress" award at the murder mystery party that her friend threw, so one never can tell.

Those of you who read this blog regularly (or at least have read the blog entry announcing my arrival--look for the orange, btw), may want to know what I think of Ghana. I'm going to have some very nice words to say. But I know some of you don't want nice words. You want blood and bad luck.

Doh! One of Tyler's many injuries.

For you sickos, I will answer the following Frequently Asked Questions:

Did you find the passport you lost ten minutes after arriving in Accra?
No. But I did have the opportunity to spend hours upon hours at the American Embassy. When you're in an American embassy, you are technically on American soil, so the following comments are not to be applied to the friendly people of Ghana.

1. American embassies generate their electricity by moving people through lines; you are always sure to see long queues at American embassies. As an American national, you'll have it a bit easier than everyone else, though, and can skip a number of the longer lines. Possibly because of this, the embassy will require you to come back at least four separate times. Some of these visits will take several hours.

2. The woman at the window that you have to see when you check-in is sure to have a mental breakdown because there are as many as FOUR people crowding around her window to ask why nothing is happening and no one has taken their names or given them a number. You might note that mental breakdowns are not conducive to efficient service. You might also note that none of the people around the window are really all that high pressure and that she only really has to deal with them from 8am-noon M-F.

3. American embassies insist that you fill out forms at one place, then trek far away to a cashier who will be either a) leaving an hour earlier than all other services close, or b) missing for over an hour (no backups apparently can be found, either). (I was fortunate enough to experience both.) You will then need to trek back to the first place, though to get there you will have to leave the embassy and make your way through the line and back into the embassy. (As an American you can cut in line, though.)

4. American embassies are remarkable for their inefficiency. I think this comes from an inability to communicate and execute. A harsher fellow might call American embassies "incompetent". I, personally, wouldn't say that because diplomats might then point out that it isn't really all that competent to lose your passport ten minutes after stepping foot out of the airport.

How many injuries have you sustained in Ghana?
Most of my injuries are on the right side of my body:
- Above my big toe is a deep gash that came from falling down the stairs the first night. This was reinjured when I slipped on the rocks near the waterfall last weekend.
- On the outside of the foot is a cut from a sharp, rusty piece of metal poking out of a seat in a tro-tro. Tro-tros are minivans that are packed with 20 people for commuting and extricating yourself from the far back involves a lot of squeezing and brushing up against people, poultry and pokeybits.
- My ankle is turned from the fall down the spiral staircase that first night and there is an open wound there, too. For what it's worth, I twisted it again stepping off the curb three days ago.
- My thumb was slammed in the door. (It was big, heavy and iron. The door, not my thumb.)
- My forearm has a largeish sandburn from getting knocked down by a giant wave and dragged along the bottom of the ocean floor. Last weekend Jill and I traveled all around the eastern part of the country and spent a day on a beautiful beach that had fantastic warm water where I could body surf. Except that I'm not really all that good at body surfing, I guess. My rule of bruised thumb is to leave the ocean once you start bleeding. This is probably the thing that hurts the most (except for my ankle when I'm hiking up 45 degree inclines). I'm still pretty forgetful of it, so it bumps up against things a lot, I'm hoping I don't have sand stuck in me subcutaneously.
Non-right-side items of note:
- Something (my malaria medication, the dust and sweat?) has really made my forehead breakout in a billion pimples.
- I got a sunburn on my shoulders but it's better now.
- I also scraped my left knee in the body surfing expedition. It's pretty healed, too.
- Last Monday night/Tuesday day I was sick with a "running tummy". Except that it wasn't really my tummy that was running. Jill took very good care of me. Checked me into a hotel so I could have a shower and airconditioning and no one to bother me. She was very swell and made me toast, too.

Truth be told, it's been a nice trip and Jill has been remarkable. I have frankly been far too lazy and she has done a great job handling nearly all of the logistics. She feels it's her responsibility to handle these sorts of things and it certainly has been appreciated.

Some notes of interest:
- Ghana is hot. Damn hot.
- It's a green place.
- Everyone sucks water from plastic sachets all of the time. Sachets are squareish, plastic bags of water. Sadly, everyone just throws these sachets on the ground when they are done.
- The pineapples are pretty good. The grilled plantains are yummy. Other good dishes: red-red and palaver. I'll make Jill explain them.
- The folks are friendly. Except in customer service. The customer service is dour.
- Everyone snaps fingers as the conclusion to a handshake. (That is, the handshakes end with you and the other person snapping.)
- Ewe is probably the most beautiful of the Ghanaian languages I heard.
- Guys get name-whistles that identify them (so you can call them when they're far off).
- Jill's English has degenerated to the point that it is unrecognizable.
- Still, she makes up in love, care, and thoughtfulness what she lacks in intelligible syntax.

Some of the best things:
- We took a tro-tro to the Volta region (Africa's largest reservior) and did a hike to a waterfall--a hilltop jungle that you enter from a hilltop village. The village was really neat. I hope we can put up some pictures. The layout was really conducive to community, I think. The hike was great and we saw a column of enormous, angry army ants (you leave the path and avoid army ants--you do not step on them or near them). There were some butterflies, too. The waterfall was nice and there was a little cave with an enormous chimney that we went in, too. The bats that had been there moved out when the villagers started bothering them. Apparently bat-meat is tasty, btw. We weren't offered any ourselves.

Wisdom, Papa and Tyler in Tota before our waterFALL hike

- I'm not actually a big beach person, but I do love swimming in warm water.
- The night before I got rode-slash-got-pummeled by the waves, we ate barracuda. I thought it was quite tasty, though I might have gotten sick because of it and we did have to fight with the place about the bill. We ate it on a deck overlooking the estuary at dusk. That was pretty neat.
- Jill's friend Jane organized a murder mystery party on Saturday night that was a 1920s gangsta affair. I was a mayor and had a pretty fun time of it. I had been growing a beard so I shaved it to make it into a mustache. Boy, do I look weasly with a mustache. But the mustache grew on me a little and by the time of the party I thought, hey, this isn't so untrustworthy. It's kinda sexy in a Village People sort of way. Jill was ashamed of it, though, and every introduction on Saturday was: "Hi, this is my brother, he doesn't normally have a mustache, doesn't he look terrible with it?" I only had the mustache on Saturday, I was forced to shave it on Sunday morning.

"Please, he doesn't usually look so shady and sleazy!"

- Yesterday (Sunday) we took a hike to Shai Hills and saw baboons, crocodiles and an antelope. The crocs were small, but on our way back to the car we got to see one chomping on a bird. Yum. It was a long hike, but a good one. There were some fantastic bird calls. One sounded like a real song: do-dee-do. (Jill, you might need to podcast this blog.) Up to now, Chile's had the best bird calls. I think Ghana is up there now, too. The hike started with rain but soon got pretty hot. Green savannah hiking from flat land up to the top of a hill. As we were in the last leg, my phone beeped to say I got a text message. This was exciting because it was Gus's birthday. Jill and I had a rule of no phones while on nature hikes, so I couldn't check it til the end. But anticipation is pretty nice. And then there was a cool breeze. Those two things make a fellow pretty happy here.

Rain couldn't stop us (but nearly stopped our wussy guide)

- One of the main streets is lined with trees from which millions of bats hang. It's really cool to see them there, like dark fruits...or flying in circles at dusk.
- Two missed events: we were foiled the other weekend by timing and opted out of going to a fetish priest; this weekend we got caught in a downpour and had to skip the orphanage Jill worked at. I guess I'll have to come back!

Time Waster

2005-11-11T14:43:00.000Z

I know you expect me to write about all the fun Tyler and I are having (and secretly harboring desires to hear about further catastrophes, you evil, evil people!).

I tried to blog about our weekend yesterday and I'm just not in the writing mood. It'll come (hopefully Tyler will make good on his promise to do a Guest Blog). I've also got to take more pictures and then post them (did I tell you how a Canadian girl new to Accra recognized me at a local bar from my pictures on here?! A wee bit disturbing).

How have I spent my days at work while Tyler is out trapsing about Accra on his own?

Today:

I read about the Pitcairn Island trials (Pacific island with population 47, half the island's men were tried by British for sexual abuse, eg sleeping with girls as young as 12. (Some) locals claimed a) this was their cultural practice and b) that the UK had no jurisdiction over them.)

Jonestown Massacre (I didn't know that the whole kool-aid suicide thing happened in Guyana or that a US Rep was killed when he went to investigate on behalf of his constituents' with family members in the cult.)

Geoquiz (My scores: a 149 on Africa, 82 on Asia, 80 for the Middle East and 138 in the US. How'd you do?)

Best of Craig's List: Office wide entertainment tactic. Didn't find that many I liked, but yesterday was amused by "bleeding heart liberal seeks sperm donor for abortion" (before Supreme Court outlaws it). Tyler recommended one he remembered from years ago: a personal ad from a 100% genetically Asian woman.

No more looking at the calendar or searching for flights: plane tickets bought for Christmas. Accra-Cairo(transit)-NYC(2 nights, hope somebody will meet me at the airport with a winter coat!)-Iowa. Home from Dec 18-Jan 7. NYC for a day, Egypt for some time (depends on how much vacation time I have accumulated by then), and then back to Ghana.

And today I've got headphones and the blessing of music to make this Friday afternoon speed by a little bit faster. And now a game of Internet Backgammon!

Visit!

2005-11-04T11:22:00.000Z

My brother Tyler arrived last night!

(For skimmers, I've highlighted all Tyler's misfortunes from Day 1 in orange.)

2 worlds collide. I feel like somehow my existence here is verified or legitimized by having a family member bear witness. I like knowing that, in the future, I can make references to things and know he's seen the place, met the people.

He told me last week that he'd be coming Nov 3-14th. What a great surprise sneak attack! I can't officially take off vacation time because I'm in my 3 month probation period, but I can be 'sick' for a day or two.

Tyler's horoscope for yesterday: If you're not on the move right now, you'll wish you were, and with a partner by your side (ME!). And today: Life is full of unexpected adventures -- why not get caught up in the moment?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever read that book Alexander's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?
As Alexander learns, some days are like that, "Even in Australia." Especially in Africa.

Tyler texted me Wednesday from the SF airport: United wouldn't check him through the whole way without a visa (even though he could get one on arrival at the Accra airport) and it would have been cutting it close with such a tight connection in Frankfurt and a checked bag. Luckily a Lufthansa agent-angel just stuck him on their flight the whole way, even giving him an aisle bulk head seat and waiving the change fee. (Disaster averted--or at least, postponed.)

Then Tyler cut his finger running through the airport to catch the flight.

I am sure he fretted the whole way there about whether he really could get a visa at the airport (I know I was secretly worried; hence not blogging my excitement that he'd be coming before he arrived in case I should jinx it.)

The flight was scheduled to come at 6:25 pm. Annie and I pulled up at 7:10ish after calculating it would take him that long to get through immigration and collect his bag (and being slightly delayed by traffic). I saw him exiting and ran the last 15 steps so that I was right there when he got to the end of the fenced off area. Whew, just in time.

We got home only to discover that Tyler couldn't open the suitcase he'd brought, sure that the combination lock had been set at0-0-0 and maliciously changed by the security guards in the US that require you to leave luggage unlocked...

Tyler THEN discovered he didn't have his passport. Lost or stolen, we don't really know.

Holy Saint Anthony...

We checked the house, the car, and then Annie was kind enough to take us BACK to the airport. We looked around the parking lot, talked to the parking attendants and security: no dice. We waltzed through security at the airport exit (easier than when Jane lost her baggage) and checked with the customs official, who assured us she'd handed it back to Tyler. We checked at Information and Lost & Found. They made a PA annoucement and I left my telephone number with anyone and everyone in case it should turn up.

Back outside, Annie was doing her own investigation and trying to track down the shifty-eyed guy who had tried to help Tyler with his bag (help we didn't request, didn't need, and didn't reward). We spotted him just after we'd put our validated parking ticket into the machine and the mechanical parking lot arm went up. But we pulled over to talk to the guy (we wanted to frisk him, but didn't think that'd go over too well). Then the arm went down and we couldn't get out. So, Annie had to 'park well' while I went back to the office to explain what had happened and get us a way to get out. Meanwhile, Annie sat with the parking attendents and the shifty-eyed guy, trying to gauge if he had the passport and could be bribed to get it back. "My all means, if a good person found it, they will bring it back," he claimed. Annie probed, saying that there were definitely 'bad people' who would be willing to buy a passport from 'other bad people,' trying to get across that we, too, would pay. But the man wouldn't admit that there were bad people.

The IT guy had to come back with me to open the arm, but as Annie fumbled to find her business card, it timed out again and he had to open it again. She handed her card to the IT guy (though it was intended more for shifty-eyed guy who was seated nearby), who called her several hours later. He didn't offer any information and it might have just been that he was calling to chat her up.

Annie dropped us off at Epo Spot, a local Ghanaian outdoor bar with a nearby chop bar. Tyler wanted Ghanaian food, so I gave him Chicken and Rice. We had some ice cream on the way home and I came the closest I've ever come to almost falling into a gutter (one of my all-time fears).

At home, we managed to open the luggage with one of three security code alternatives provided by the co-owner of the suitcase. I got just what I requested: granola, two Arabic textbooks, and a CD of pictures from our South Africa trip (but no Swiss Cake Rolls!).

Even the rain wasn't stopping the Thursday night live music coming from our backyard bar, so we packed an overnight bag to go sleep at Annie's.

Tyler slid down part of our concrete spiral staircase and scrapped up his leg.

We got to Annie's and, miraculously, my key worked. Hot water, A/C, peace and quiet. Collapse. Thanks, Annie!

All I have to say about the bad luck is: it's not even mercury retrograde!

NOTE: this post pending approval. Hope you all read it before Tyler makes me take it down! :D

Halloween

2005-11-03T10:15:00.000Z

This is the first year I got excited about Halloween in a long time---and that was only after a Google Search led me to:

A stick in the mud (wear brown, attach stick)
Someone to count on (wear cut-outs of numbers attached to clothes)
Devil's advocate (wear pins and signs that say "Go Devil!" and "Satan's #1!")
Tickled pink (wear pink and carry feather)

Friday night I was a lion, Jane a belly dancer and A. was "thirsty" (those are empty water sachets), but some people thought she was the tin man. I enjoyed ROARING at bewildered Ghanaians in the street between our house and the party place.

Saturday night I was "a catch." (No google, that was all me!) I realized half way through the night I could have been "caught red-handed" with a simple addition. (Randomness: there were 3 other Iowans living and working in Accra at this party!!!!!)

Dressing up the Roomie

2005-11-03T10:04:00.000Z

Daddy's Girl?

2005-10-31T14:39:00.000Z

We decided we didn't need to call an electrician to change 3 broken light socket fixture thingys (look, I've even got the terminology down!). Jane began the project, but Olivier could reach just a little bit easier from the chair-on-the-couch (my job was to sturdy that precariousness and hand things up and down). We changed the fixtures from Ghanaian 'normal' (pin) to our 'normal' (screw in). Success!

...

Until I tried to turn on my lights that evening (which we hadn't messed with at all) and they didn't work. I figured that the 3rd mysterious wire in the living room really WAS used for something after all. Olivier to the rescue! He rehooked it up and God said:

"Let there be light."

Eviction Notice (updated)

2005-10-27T15:09:00.000Z

I just got my medical results back from 6 weeks ago when I started my job. Fit to Travel.

But looks like I have some squatters in my belly: amebiasis.
http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/dpd/parasites/amebiasis/factsht_amebiasis.htm

When you live in Africa, isn't it to be expected? Luckily, I've been feeling fine and didn't even know about those sneaky devils.

Headed to the pharmacy after work. This parasite party is about to end.

UPDATE: My stomach feels a tiny bit turbulent today. Must mean the Antibiotic SuperStorm Troopers have entered the bad guys' hideout, guns ablazing, shoot-out ensuing.

Saddest Poem

2005-10-21T11:18:00.000Z

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

--Pablo Neruda

Protest

2005-10-18T08:44:00.000Z

2000 Sudanese have been camping outside of UNHCR-Cairo's office for the past two weeks. They are protesting UNHCR's suspension of interviews and resettlment for Sudanese for the past year+. Given the peace plan between the north and south, UNHCR thought it wise to wait-n-see how things were going, in hopes that the Sudanese could begin to go home.

The situation for Sudanese in Egypt is difficult: it's hard to get work or send children to school; police have carried out raids against blacks in the past. The Sudanese protesters have issued a list of demands, including resettlement to a 3rd country and a reopening of closed files. That won't happen.

Stopping ALL Sudanese interviews is problematic. There are obviously people fleeing Darfur that have legimate asylum claims. But open interviews to a certain ethnicity, or people from a certain region, and you'll be accused of discriminating (but wouldn't that discrimination be justified?).

Time to email my refugees sources in Cairo!

For more: http://news.morningstar.com/news/DJ/M10/D10/200510101551DOWJONESDJONLINE000495.html

State of the Union

2005-10-17T12:17:00.000Z

I know I'm being prolific. All those posts last week. Well, what do you expect when I'm shut up indoors all day with an internet connection and a newly emptied email inbox and no real work on the horizon? (Anyone in need of a research assistant and willing to pay, I can do your work while I work!)

This is the first time in a my life I've had a job where the work stays at the office. Nights and weekends are all mine; no nagging "I really should be working" feelings, nothing hanging over my head.

I don't know what to do.

My life seems so boring now, I have little to fill up my time. Work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

I woke up Saturday morning before 9am, fully rested because I'd slept so early Friday night. I read for an hour, finishing the novel. Then I was depressed because I had the WHOLE day stretching ahead of me with nothing planned and no good ideas of how to fill the void AND most of my friends were out of town.

I answered when a Ghanaian girl I know called me and agreed to meet up with her. We had a Coke at a 'spot' and were bored together for awhile. Not too much to talk about with her. A bit strained, but at least there was a Ghanaian aspect to my day.

I almost wish I have a TV. Or a place to go running. And where can I find an Arabic textbook in this city?! Perhaps I could find some knitting needles?

Our water was out from Friday evening till Monday morning. I woke up Sunday morning as the winds picked up and I knew that rain was coming. I thought about putting a bucket outside to collect the precious, precious water, but was too lazy in the end.

As I dozed back to sleep, I heard really nice music: female voices softly humming with what seemed to be an aucostic guitar. I was surprised to hear something along the lines of the Indigo Girls coming from my neighbors, who have been known to pump "Barbie Girl" at maximum volume and generally prefer Ghanaian music. As the song ended, I made a mental note to track down the source of the music.

Then the sound became one of a man talking. I couldn't make out the words, but in my grogginess I knew how wrong I'd been.

Sunday!

Not a guitar, but an organ!

I'm not so desperate that I'll go THERE.

Food for Thought (and to Eat)

2005-10-15T09:36:00.000Z

From a friend back home:

About a movie: "...she went to Greece and fell in love with his guy...a guy that was always smiling and made the most out of life. someone with positive energy all around him - someone that really seemed to impact the people around him, ya know? someone that it would be impossible not to notice and not to respect and admire.

...do the characteristics of fictional characters even exist in real life? or do we just
torture ourselves hoping to come across those that we feel we are familiar with through brilliant hollywood scripts, scenery, and acting? i ramble."

Has Hollywood made women have unreasonable expectations? Perhaps. I certainly like the description above (and think I may have found someone who almost fits that description, I just don't know for sure yet. The potential is still there though, as well as the desire for that kind of Perfection. What happens when He's Not All That?). Even before Hollywood, there were knights in shining armor and fairy tale endings (not the Grimm Brother ones where everyone's eyes get pecked out). Expectations, particularly unrealistic ones, spell disappointment. I've been thinking lately that a person can love someone and it just isn't meant to be--not exactly the default Hollywood happily ever after. Too angsty for that. But isn't that also a romantic notion? Ala Romeo and Juliet? Othello and Desdemona? Okay, death doesn't ALWAYS have to be involved...

I ramble.

CHOP

My friend ended her email with a more easily answered musing: "i was walking down the street the other day and realized that, despite your emails and descriptions, i still have no idea what you eat. like what Ghanaian food is, or is not. I realized i still pictured you overseas eating falafel and shwarma and whatever other middle eastern food you ate."

There is no escaping Chicken and Rice. Numerous times Jane and I have ordered something else (usually in a village or out-of-the-way joint) and ended up with chicken and rice (as if that's the only thing an obruni would/could eat). I find that even when we're cooking at home, we often stir up some variation of chicken and rice---usually with sweet'n sour sauce or lemon sauce or curry, but anyway you dress it, it's still chicken and rice.

Jane has astutely characterized other typical Ghanaian food as Mashed Balls of Carbohydrates.

Fufu: pounded cassava (sometimes with plantain added). First you boil it, then pound it into a glutinous mass, usually with a giant, wooden mortar and pestle (which is taller than the person pounding, who is standing and heaving it up and down, resulting in perfectly defined arm muscles. Usually done outdoors, with a tok tok sound, great rhythm, especially when you have two people going at the same vat of goop at once with two poles. Also requires more energy to make than you probably get from eating it!)

You're not supposed to chew fufu--just swallow...but fingers do a little squashing action that is almost like chewing and it goes down easier with the soup it's served with. There are 3 common soups: light, groundnut (peanut), or palm oil. I'm still always afraid it's going to get stuck in my throat. Sometimes I sneakingly chew. But really, not that appetizing.

Banku: fermented corn and cassava dough. Usually served with okra stew ('stew' isn't runny like soup, it's more like sauce). (Blogger and Flickr aren't being helpful with posting the picture here, so click on 'banku' to see it with okra stew...and here's one of us eating at a 'chop bar' in July.)
Kenkey: boiled fermented corn dough. Eaten with fish, canned tuna or corned beef.
Boiled Yam
Boiled Plantain
Omo tuo: mashed rice balls (with groundnut soup)
Red-red: fried plantain with beans, oil, gari (I don't now what gari is, other than a white powdery substance)
Kelewele: deep fried and heavily spiced plantain
Green-green: I also recently heard of this...a grasscutter is a small rodent (bushmeat)...they take that contents of its stomach after it is killed and make it into this stew.....ewwwwww.

Other sauces include spinach stew or tomato stew. A healthy dose of shito (hot pepper sauce) is added to everything (but not mine!).

I can get burgers, pizza, shwerma, Chinese, Indian (last two a bit expensive though!).

For lunch at the office, there are a lot of options around. I usually eat red-red at least once a week ($0.50 will fill ya up), maybe banku and okra stew and fish another day, maybe chicken and rice. The office also has salads delivered from a restaurant and I do that about twice a week (large variety of choices: Nicoise, Mexican, Chicken Tikka, Layered Pasta, etc, about $2 or $2.50 and you get a nice plastic container to keep!).

I share Frenchie's love of "planteens." Boiled, fried, grilled! The Benin cook where Jane works has some secret Gabon receipe of mashed plantains that is fabulous with groundnut soup that you can't get anywhere else---and she told me she might bring me some home today!!!!! *False alarm*

Dream

2005-10-14T16:04:00.000Z

One of my closest friends told me she had a dream about me a couple of weeks ago. I just popped into Missouri from Africa and said, "Let's do lunch."

A Malay friend in Iowa City (that I haven't talked to in a long time!) had a dream two months ago that I became Muslim and was wearing the headscarf.

Let's stretch waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back and remember that after I left Malaysia and was back in the US, Malay A. dreamt I was going to win the lotto. And then an Indian man that neither of us knew actually walked up to him on the street in Melacca and told him that the mat salleh (white girl) in his life would win the lottery...and then we would be married. That was kind of eerie, but I haven't won yet. Guess I can't win if I'm not playing...

Any one else dreaming about me?

Well, why not!?!?

Sweet, sweet music

2005-10-14T15:16:00.000Z

They say that French is a beautiful language, but when you get a certain famous Frenchie speaking English, it also comes out all frilly and high class sounding. She adds some great flavoring to the language. Some examples:

"August is the month where the less things happen in France, it seems like someone suddenly unplugged the wire : every shop closes, not even to mention the administration, everybody's on his way to holiday, building up huge traffic jams everywhere in the country. and the France Sleeping Beauty shall wake up only when the first leave falls, time for the first day of school, time to go back to work..."

"and it almost felt like Ghana two days ago, when the water was cut for 36hrs. !!! my brothers went as good as mad, wondering how i could've put up with it, swearing their great gods they'd never go to Africa !"

-i HAVE to shake off that spleen!!!
-what is it there that could do as a ... how was it... "red herring"?
-and we had what the Brits call a whale of a time!!! ;D
-I miss you, dear Amys
-and if he's a nutella-fan, my god, you really found the rare pearl!

Frenchie--we miss you!
Happy Birthday a bit late!

Star Quality

2005-10-13T10:45:00.000Z

I have an American friend who just moved to KL. I put her in touch with some of my Malaysian friends, introducing them in the following way by email:

R: alternative online newspaper man ala Clark Kent, big boy in Amnesty International. climb on the back of his motorbike and hang out tight (but know that he has a car, so if he makes you ride his bike, it's just because he wants you to hang on tight).

L: bad ass lawyer campaigning the rights of all kinds of vulnerables. has a fantastic collection of lepord and zebra headscarf. great ear for listening to scandalous stories.

J: I had to be his friend cuz his name is Jack, so maybe he's not for you. international man of mystery with killer credentials and no doubt a member of the Chinese Triad.

L: dancing queen, scavenger hunter extraordinaire, world traveler, bumble bee driver, art show goer. the girl to know to know what is going on.

M: I only met this gem toward the end of my stay and wish I could have known him longer. always able to belt out an appropriate showtune for every occassion and the only person i've known to go on a Sex in the City tour while in NYC.

Thanks to being online everyday at work, I've also been able to chat with a few of my Malaysian superstars. How could I not miss these people?!

I just reread Terri's posts about L. and A. Such lovely descriptions.
http://terriburgersets.blogspot.com/2004_12_01_terriburgersets_archive.html

I know I could be happy living in KL, if there was a job for me I enjoyed. Same as Egypt. Why can't I gather all the people from my various lives together and have One Reality in One Place? College meets Malaysia meets Iowa meets Ghana meets Egypt?

For the rest of my life,
wherever I am, there will be some place I'm not...

Gobble Gobble, Canadian Style

2005-10-13T08:24:00.000Z

Last night I attended a Canadian Thanksgiving (actual date is 2nd Monday in Oct) with about 15 other expats that definitively make up 'the crew.'

There was turkey, pork roast, pumpkin, veggies, stuffing!, apple pie and birthday cake. Yum.

Before eating, we did the inevitable: told what we were thankful for. (No pilgram hats or Indian feathers, though.)

Me?

After two girls expressed thanks for their significant others, I followed as closely as I could. I gave thanks for Jane, my roommate and sista.

E.g. Yesterday I came home from work wearing her shirt and she showed up wearing mine. Neither of us had asked permission and neither of us cared. (How could I, really? She does my laundry!)

She's my Ghanaian version of Amber and Dom, my 'Egyptian' sisters: always dependable, always ready to listen, closets always open, always able to understand what I don't say, always willing to cook if I do the dishes, always allowing me to sleepover (I spent more time in Amber's apartment than my own, then Dom let me crash with her for months!).

I didn't have anyone like that in Malaysia.

I should have spent more time in the supermarket there...

That Word Again

2005-10-13T08:15:00.000Z

A co-worker made my day yesterday when she told me that she liked my clothes, my style.

She called it "Bohemian chic."

*beaming*

Wow versus WAWA

2005-10-12T14:22:00.000Z

Once again I will make the statement that I don't LOVE Ghana, but I'm also not unhappy here. Ghana might even be growing on me.

In fact, over the last month, I've been having random, shiny, tangible moments of Happy. I feel momentary light and warmth, like the sun has just come out from behind the clouds and I can hear the chorus of angels singing.

When I was walking down the dirt path from the orphanage to get some 'chop.'
Or dancing at the street party after Ghana qualified for the World Cup this weekend.
Or sitting in my apartment in the late afternoon with a cup of tea, feeling at home.

That, of course, contrasts with the days where WAWA: West Africa Wins Again (concept courtesy of Annie, a former Peace Corpse in Guinea). Jane had one of those days yesterday, it would seem. Nothing goes right, everyone is late, the water is out, the internet isn't working, one too many people asks you for your number or to marry you, the policeman expects you to dash him for some non-offense, and let's not even talk about the potential problems with cabbies. You just feel like throwing your hands up in the air in surrender or else retreating to your bedroom to hide under your covers. That is, if it isn't too hot for that.

Laughing neurotically--loudly and from the belly or high-pitched and nasal--is also a good choice when confronted with WAWA.

I imagine I will continue to like Ghana, except for on the days I don't, till one day I'm fed up and snap, unable to laugh. That's when I'll know I'm ready to go.

Fight

2005-10-10T09:00:00.000Z

My pulse is just now returning to normal; the shakiness has almost subsided.

I’m a bit reluctant to share the following story with you, afraid that it might make me look bad. But I will fight the desire to censor all but the most flattering things and tell you straight up what happened…

I had my first all-out-yelling-in-the-street-other-people-gathering-round fight on my way to work. Unsurprisingly, it was with a taxi driver.

I’ve been working here a month now, which means that I’ve made the back-n-forth trip from home to work roughly 40 times. Each time I’m paying 15,000 cedis (roughly $1.50). My negotiation strategy isn’t complicated: I know what a fair price is and so before I get in the taxi, I say where I’m going and how much I’ll pay. Generally the driver will say, “oh, make it 20,” to which I’ll reply, “Charlie, I’m going everyday and paying 15.” He typically will say, “ok, sit down,” though sometimes the driver won’t budge and I’ll let him drive off and wait for the next (Friday I stopped a taxi that was asking 50,000 cedis! I just laughed and walked off—no point in starting to negotiate on that one). I know 15,000 is a fair price because people are willing to take me for it—if it weren’t, they just wouldn’t take me.

So today a taxi stopped with two small children in their school uniforms in back—he was dropping them “just here.” I told him where I was going and said I’d pay 15,000. He asked which side of Roman Ridge I was going and I said, “Behind Jack and Jill (School), on the way to Nyaho Clinic.”

Along the way, the driver was griping about other drivers under his breathe in Twi, but he himself was cutting people off. I just looked out the window and ignored it. He was having some problem with his car too, it seemed.

When we got to Jack and Jill, he asked where and I said, “behind, pass left at the junction.” He said he thought I had meant I was going someplace opposite, not “in back of.” I said that “behind” means “in back of” and that I’d also said “on the way to Nyaho” (which is "in back of"). He started to argue and say that 15 was not good and I’d have to pay 20.

“I’m going everyday and always paying 15,000. That’s what we agreed on.”

“I won’t take 15! You pay 20, do you agree?”

“No! I’ll pay 15, that’s what we agreed on and that’s a fair price.”

At this point he had knowingly passed the junction where he should have turned and there was quite a bit of traffic so it would have been difficult to get back to where I needed to go. Now he was not only not taking me where I wanted to go, but AWAY from it.

He wanted me to pay 15 to drop there, but I was still a good 10 minute walk away from my office.

I don’t know where it came from, but I had a fire in me this morning.

“You didn’t take me to where I wanted to go, so I won’t pay!” I think that the F-word might have slipped out of my mouth (as an adjective, not a verb), to which he might have said he would kill me. I jumped out of the moving taxi and started to walk. I was pissed, but I also thought that it was best to get out of the taxi and, if necessary, bring the public into the fight as a safety precaution.

I was in a lose-lose situation almost; either I pay him fully to NOT take me the whole way or I let him squeeze more out of me to take me to where we’d originally agreed. I wasn’t having it. I didn't want to not pay him, but he didn't give me much choice. I wasn't going to let him bully me. I was shocked two weeks ago when a co-worker basically did this same thing on the way home. I never would have dreamed I would be doing the same thing so soon.

There was a lot of traffic, lots of cars around. I started to walk fast—I was angry and I was going to be late. I was a bit scared the man would come and follow me…he did. I was just near a group of women selling some breakfast food when he came shouting. I squared off to face him, ready.

“Maybowcho (I beg, please)!” I wanted my chance to tell my story to the women. I explained how I’d given the directions, that I’m always paying 15 while he was shouting and raving. The 3 or 4 breakfast women tried to talk the man down and he threatened to slap me, which was tsk-tsked by the gathering crowd. I knew he couldn't with all those people around. He called me crazy and mad, which are big insults in Ghana.

Finally, I paid him 10,000 cedis since he didn’t take me to where we had agreed. He continued to argue, other people were obviously fighting my fight for me, and I walked off. My heart was pounding and I was looking around to make sure that there were always people near me. I know I shouldn’t have put myself in this situation, especially for $0.50, but it all happened so fast. And to think I was just telling someone yesterday that I’d been having good luck with taxi drivers lately…

Was it an ugly American moment? Or did I just handle the situation the way a Ghanaian would?

UPDATE: I explained this morning's showdown to a Ghanaian coworker at lunch and she told me, "You've done well!" Seems that she thinks it was good that I stood up to the taxi driver and shouted back. Ghanaians, she says, are used to shouting as a style of communication. And she said she probably wouldn't have even paid him the 10,000 cedis!

Diehard

2005-10-07T08:35:00.000Z

In NYC, it's the Yankees versus the Mets.
In Cairo, it's Ahli versus Zamalek.

Here in Ghana, you're either for Hearts of Oak or Kotoko.

Hearts of Oak is the Accra team, while Kotoko hails from Kumasi (Ghana's 'second city'). An oak tree versus a porcupine.

I've been trying to decide who "my" team is, but haven't been able to settle on one. I wasn't born into a household supporting one or the other, I don't know the players, and their mottos/songs are equally appealing:

Hearts of Oak: Phobia. "Never say die til the bones are rotting."
Kotoko: Fabulous. "If a thousand die, a thousand more will come."

Both are so over the top...

How will I ever decide?

2005-09-30T09:20:00.000Z

In relationships, do you tend to think with your head or with your heart?

Which is better?

How Do You Pronounce Chic?

2005-09-28T21:04:00.000Z

The president of the orphanage where I used to work invited me to a posh beach party this weekend; she was attending to schmooze with potential donors. I was told to wear frock, which she defined as being British for “chic, top Ibiza style, beach party evening gown. Sexy is good.”

That scared me. Clearly this woman didn’t know who she was dealing with. I used my slow, slow internet connection at work to Google “Ibiza fashion” and pondered how “beach party” could be used as an adjective for “evening gown.” I rounded up everything I have, raided friends’ closets, and still planned on being left behind at the hotel because I wasn’t stylish enough.

I settled on a purple sparkly tube top (½ of an evening gown) and black, flow-y, cotton pants (the beach part). The party was being thrown by the Lebanese-Brazilian owner of White Sands, a beach resort about 2 hours outside Accra. His chef was on one of his twice annual visits to Ghana from some small exotic island on the other side of Africa.

We arrived not long past 8pm; though Lisa may be a fashion expert (she used to be an editor of Vogue Spain and a model herself), she’s been living in an orphanage too long to know that’s incredibly, almost embarrassingly, early to show up to a party. We rolled in when it was mostly just family and close, close friends hanging out, still pre-showered and dressed. But at least we were there early enough to see the lawn catch on fire and a grown man grab hold of a table leg and beg as his two brothers tried to throw him in the water (retaliation for him picking on his nephew).

I was shocked to see this guy: the spitting image of the love I’d left behind in Egypt. Personality-wise, they were also similar: quick to smile, easy to laugh, always in good humor. Sunday, we built sand castles with some kids and for the first time ever I was attracted by the thought, “He’d make a good father!“ Why must the universe torture me so?!

The party was great fun, though the gourmet food wasn’t served till late and I left before everyone got thrown into the pool. There were a lot of great, inspiring married couples at the party and I got to practice a bit of Arabic (they were mostly Lebanese who have been in Ghana for a couple of generations…there are more Lebanese living outside Lebanon than inside and soon Brazil’s population of Lebanese will surpass the population of Lebanon!). These people were rich, but they didn’t act it. They were friendly and funny (rivaling the Egyptians in their humor, in fact!) and welcoming. I want to be a part of that family!

I was even wearing the right clothes. And if I hadn't, they wouldn't have cared.

Work in Progress

2005-09-23T08:01:00.000Z

see more painting pictures on Jane's blog, www.journeyofjane.blogspot.com.

(Gee, having her blog to refer you to saves me a lot of work!)

NEW

2005-09-21T09:52:00.000Z

I’ve survived my first week back to a 8-4:30 job, and I even went in early and stayed late a couple of times (great for me because we get comp time--every extra hour worked goes to more vacation time!). We’re in the middle of a ‘circuit ride’ here in Ghana, which means we’re processing refugees by doing a series of three interviews in preparation for their interviews with immigration officers (DHS/formerly INS) who make the decision if they get to come to the US. Basically, I’m a glorified form filler, paper pusher, private investigator, genealogist, social worker. I should get to travel around West Africa for circuit rides, though there don’t seem to be as many planned in the near future as I would like…I hope to travel abroad once before Christmas…(that’s when you can really get lots of comp time!)

Each day, Jane and I are on the lookout for something new that we’ve never seen before. Jane has reported an albino rooster, a soccer match in Ghana at the stadium, a peacock (I forget what else).

I saw an old woman dressed nicely walking down a busy street barefoot; her shoes were balanced on the top of her head.

I saw a fight take place in a parking lot yesterday. A man was yelling at a woman because she brought a couple of friends with her when he invited her out; they just wanted to ‘spend his money’ (because culturally he’d be expected to pay, even for the friends she brought). The man chased her around the parking lot; she hid behind some other men she didn’t know. When she dropped a plastic bag with some clothes in it, the man picked it up and threw it into the air. He even grabbed a rock, as if he was going to hit the woman with it. Finally, another man ‘took the fight’ and started to yell at him for his behavior and for trying to beat the woman. I stood around and watched, like all the Ghanaians who happened to be passing by.

I saw a shopping mall in Ghana (didn’t even know they existed) and two free range turkeys in Osu (to keep with Jane‘s bird theme). I rode in a taxi with A/C and electric windows (and a great driver). I tasted a ginger drink, fiery hot from the local gin called apeteshi that is mixed with it. I learned to play canasta.

Jane and I bought paint on Saturday. After six months in this house, the lime green (or is it chartreuse?) walls I liked so much in the beginning have got to go. Jane has described the hideous yellow color on her walls as “the outside part of a hard boiled egg yolk, before the yolk has been broken open.” You know, it’s kind of greenish, but yellow. All the trim in the house is bright yellow. My walls are…sea green blue? Turquoise? I’ll wait to paint them till another time. Painting will do plenty for our mental sanity. If only we could also make our bar downstairs stop with the live music…but since it’s been going on for at least 20 years, I doubt that’ll happen. (Instead, we’ll have to look for friends’ couches and extra beds to crash on weekly, like we did this past Thursday).

Our roommate Rachel is left on Sunday. She moved in right after I left for my travels, so though she’s lived in this house for roughly two months, I’ve only been around for about two weeks of that time. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to bond! The new roommate is likely to be her French Canadian photo journalist colleague at Journalists for Human Rights. I’ve never met him, but word on the street is that he‘s ‘dreamy.’

I went bowling on Saturday night. That was a first in Ghana. I scored a 94, then a 60. The high score after five people played two games each was Jane’s 106. Pathetic. But we’ll undoubtedly improve because we became Gold Card Members at the bowling alley for the next year! Just after signing up, three of us were blessed with strikes. There’s no where to go but up.

FROM TWO GOOD BOOKS ABOUT WEST AFRICA

“‘Still trying to find your way around Sierra Leone with a map of Indiana?’ asked Killigan.”
White Man’s Grave, by Richard Dooling

“People ask me now, ‘What was Africa like?’ I tell them that the place I came to know is laughing yet troubled, strong yet crippled, and dancing. Africa was like nothing I had known before, until I knew it better.”
Nine Hills to Nambonkaha, by Sarah Erdman

Back

2005-09-08T16:42:00.000Z

Yesterday was a Good Ghana Day.

Jane and I went to Melcom’s, Ghana’s closest approximation of a department store, but the whole system of purchasing is typically ridiculous. You decide what you want, tell a nearby employee, who then writes the item and price on a piece of paper and holds the item for you till you return with a paid receipt. That means you wander around the store collecting these papers. Then you go and pay, wander back around the store collecting your items, only THEN will you get your plastic bags to put everything in as the woman checks your receipt again.

But it’s more fun than that--there’s the customer service dimension. The women working there seemed annoyed that anyone should want to buy something, which would mean they would have to do something. Our inquiry about the difference between two irons was met with an arbitrary “buy this one.” “Why?” “Buy this one!”

Frying pans and coffee mugs were upstairs. We selected the ones we wanted, but upon bagging the items, Jane accused me of not picking out good mugs because the inside bottoms were chipped or damaged. I had focused my attention on the outside of the mugs, but was surprised I’d overlooked such obvious defects. Jane ran upstairs to exchange the mugs. The woman working there then acknowledged that these other ones were the ones we’d set aside--she had intentionally switched them for bad ones!!!

We bought 2 hot pink bedside lamps, 2 frying pans with lids, an iron (aren‘t you proud, Mom?!), 2 extension cords and 3 mugs, all for $28!

Next, we went to The Orangery, a restaurant in the same neighborhood that we’d been meaning to check out. I finally managed to have pumpkin soup and it was even served with fresh, hot bread! Roast chicken with herbs and boiled potatoes and veggies. Hmmmmmm.

In the afternoon, we went with another friend to Labadi Beach to play some volleyball. We didn’t manage much in the way of good rallies, so we threw the ball aside and went for a run on the beach (making a game of counting the number of black, plastic bags and dodging syringes and used condoms). This is the first athletic thing I’ve done in the past 9 months and my body is reminding me of that today!

From the beach, we took a tro-tro home. At the corner where I live, I saw a man peddling some clothes. (People walk around with things thrown over their arms, shoulders, or balanced on their head…roving boutique stores.) Like a raven, the sparkles and glittery red on his elbow caught my eye. It was a dress perfect for our planned Halloween Murder Mystery Dinner. I got it for 10,000 cedis, which is a little more than a dollar. I wasn’t sure it would fit, but figured I could make it work for me somehow. It fit like a glove, which means I get to be the slutty character in the play! It matches perfectly the beaded Cleopatra hat that a friend in Dahab gave me, also especially for the 1920s themed party. I’ve never before gotten a costume two months early and for so cheap!

Next up was Epo Spot, a local ‘spot’ (outdoor, chill bar) where we discovered really good ‘spaghetti’ (really it’s chow mein noodles and veggies) for a good price and played pool with some regulars. The Ghanaians schooled us the first time--the table and ball were smaller than usual and the green felt was behaving like sand, so that I couldn’t even hit the ball all the way down the table. In our second attempt, Jane made significant improvements and we lost by only one ball, but I continued to stink. We decided that we will become regulars there ourselves (and then use our influence to improve their choice of music!).

(Speaking of music, our backyard bar seems to have revived their Tuesday night live music…a fact I am not cartwheel in’ about. Thursdays were bad enough!)

All in all, it was a day spent out and about that made me remember why I’m Gone to Ghana.

Felucca

2005-09-06T14:30:00.000Z

Musafiri.

Mahmoud, Abdihakim, Hassan, Rashid.

For Manon

2005-09-06T14:06:00.000Z

Fishes.
Sherif. No surfboard travels involved, just some surprise clay pigeon shooting practice.

Dye Hair!

2005-09-06T13:37:00.000Z

Dahab

2005-09-06T13:10:00.000Z

On a camel, at dinner, even underwater, Jane was Always Texting.

No Name Restaurant with Jane's dive instructor, Mouse.

I lost our bet about whether Egyptians were more likely to say "shade" or "shadow." Don't worry, it's just henna.

The Reason I Didn't Want To Leave Egypt

2005-09-05T21:21:00.000Z

When I was leaving Egypt, I had the anxious, agitated feeling I get when I leave home, family, someone I love (like before moving to Malaysia or Ghana). It’s not about where I’m going, but the place I’m leaving and the people left behind.

At the airport, I was a bawling mess, but, luckily, I had Jane to take my passport, check me in, fill out my immigration form for me, and lead me to our gate.

Back in Ghana, I no longer feel this is home. Maybe that feeling will come back; I hope so, I need to live in the here and now. I’ve been sleeping a lot and hiding in the house the past few days . When I did go out, it was with a bunch of expats, which I’ve never found particularly appealing...

I start my job with the refugee resettlement organization in a week’s time. Finally! I’m hoping that will bring me salvation.

I Know Exactly What He's Talking About

2005-09-04T21:18:00.000Z

from Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris, “The Learning Curve”

I then took to wheeling in a big color television so that we might spend an hour watching One Life to Live. This was back when Victoria Buchanan passed out at her twentieth high-school reunion and came to remembering that rather than graduating with the rest of her class, she had instead hitchhiked to New York City, where she’d coupled with a hippie and given birth to a long-lost daughter. It sounds far-fetched, but like a roast forsaken in the oven or a rescheduled dental appointment, childbirth is one of those minor details that tends to slip the minds of most soap opera characters. It’s a personality trait you’ve just got to accept.

On General Hospital or Guiding Light a similar story might come off as trite or even laughable. This, though, was One Life to Live, and no one could suddenly recall the birth of a child quite like Erika Slezak, who played both Victoria Buchanan and her alternate personality, Nicole Smith…

The students were to watch an episode and write what I referred to as a “guessay,” a brief prediction of what might take place the following day.

“Remember that this is not Port Charles or Pine Valley,” I said. “This is Llanview, Pennsylvania, and we’re talking about the Buchanan family.”

It actually wasn’t a bad little assignment. While the dialogue occasionally falters, you have to admire daytime dramas for their remarkable attention to plot. Yes, there were always the predictable kidnappings and summer love triangles, but a good show could always surprise you with something as simple as the discovery of an underground city…

I thought I’d effectively conveyed the seriousness of the assignment. I thought that in my own way I had actually taught them something, so I was angry when their papers included such predictions as “the long-lost daughter turns out to be a vampire” and “the next day Vicki chokes to death while eating a submarine sandwich,” The vampire business smacked of Dark Shadows reruns, and I refused to take it seriously. But choking to death on a sandwich, that was an insult. Victoria was a Buchanan and would never duck into a sub shop, much less choke to death in a single episode. Especially on a Wednesday. Nobody dies on a Wednesday--hadn’t these people learned anything?

From the Egyptian Gazette Crossword Puzzle

2005-09-04T20:22:00.000Z

Jane and I read this on the plane, while suffering from delirium brought on by lack of sleep, and couldn't stop laughing.

ACROSS

5. Gnome turned and escorted to departure.
15. Wader rescued from water gently returned.
18. Haven offering nothing in the circumstances.
20. Poor start by lad confused at first.
23. Mean to have job in Billingsgate--only one left.
25. Drink gives urge to go mad.
26. Learner in chemistry’s so-so--resolves to like teacher.

DOWN

3. Drunken sot collected by man in white coat.
4. Eager male chasing rodent.
8. Minor champ gets to run around a little.
14. Opera makes room for experimenting with love motif that’s timeless.
21. Snacks upset Roy’s gut.

Pictures worth a thousand words

2005-08-26T13:32:00.000Z

Click HERE to see pictures of me and Jane in Egypt!

Please, Mum

2005-08-15T07:02:00.000Z

Two more days of Cairo under my belt and I maintain my first impression: clean and green. There's been a definite and successful attempt to make the city presentable. And I haven't seen anyone peeing on the street here! (Some foreign country, possibly France, is trying to push for the creation of public toliets and baths in Egypt. But what a friend pointed out is that the mosques function as such. There's one on every street and it's free and open to the public. I remember a car trip in Malaysia where I had the occassion to learn this, with much relief.)

Back to Cairo.

My first day here I let a tourist tout take me under his wing. The downtown streets are crawling with men who attempt to led you to their papyrus shop or get you to take one of their tours. I haven't actually noticed them as much now (maybe that was part of the cleanup efforts!) But Ayman appeared at my shoulder, full of his lame jokes and play on words that I'm sure he uses over and over and over (though I, too, have my own arsenal of phrases and expressions I use repeatedly). I needed to get a chip for my phone to work here, so I let him lead me around. The first two places didn't have the one I wanted and while we waited for the third store to open, he invited me to his father's perfume shop across the street for some tea. Why not? It was air conditioned and I couldn't turn down a cup of tea. I sat there, looking at the rows and rows of bottles, enduring his attempts at being funny. He asked if I wanted to try some, but when I said no, he didn't pressure me at all. I got the phone chip afterwards. Unfortuantely, when he asked for my number, I couldn't dodge the request by saying I didn't have one!

He never once asked for money. Had this been in Ghana, I wouldn't have let him take me to get the phone chip because most likely he would have only been being helpful in order to get 'dashed.' (Does that sound jaded? Or am I just being realistic?) Here, knowing the system, I knew this wasn't Ayman's angle. I could have done it on my own, but why not let someone else assist? And do that oh so very Tourist in Cairo thing of having tea in a shop. Egyptian hospitality, sa'?

In the last two weeks (Cape Town and Cairo), the only people who have asked for money have been beggars. They didn't do it because I'm white or a foreigner, but because they were asking everyone for money. Sitting at an outdoor cafe in Cape Town, eating a slice of cheesecake, a woman and her young daugther walked by. The girl's eyes got as big as saucers when she saw the cheesecake. She had a Coke in her hand, but it had probably been fished out of a trash can. I felt guilty, ashamed by the comparative extravagence. Which is worse: ordering the cheese cake in the first place or not being able to finish it?

The last night in Cape Town I holed up at a youth hostel; the fam left a day early (strange to be the one seeing Mom off...usually it's the other way around). There were no blankets and I hadn't brought a sleeping bag. It was maybe 10-15 C (50-60 F?) that night and I was freezing! I layered on all the clothes in my pack. 8 shirts, 3 pairs of pants, 2 skirts, and 4 pairs of socks. I used my tiny towel and sarong as blankets, but all that didn't do much good. But here's the thing: it was for only 1 night. I knew this suffering was limited and at least I had a bed under my back and not concrete. What about the girl, wrapped in a blanket, that asked "Mum" for money. The sight of each and every beggar (and even the singing, dancing "rubbish man" who stood at the traffic light collecting garbage from your car for small change) was painful to Mom, so unaccustomed to poverty. (In Iowa City, we get only the occassional war vet standing outside Walmart with a sign: Will Work for Food, Anything Helps.) I felt hardened, used to shaking off the small hands that would grab you on the streets of Accra, the mothers with babies in their arms circling the restaurants in Cambodia, the elaborate stories cooked up by the homeless in New Haven.

A realization that there was nothing triumphant in an ability to look the other way, to ignore, to see through.

Last month, at a Canada Day BBQ in Ghana, we began talking about giving to beggars. I mentioned that in the 6 months I'd been in Ghana, I had not once given money to a beggar (after it came out of my mouth, it felt like a confession). Food, yes. They were surprised. "But you're volunteering, which is your contribution or donation," Kelly offered. That had been my own mental defense along the way. But I think there's more to it than that. The attitude of entitlement that is rampant in Ghana puts me off. Also, if I start to give, I'm afraid I won't be able to stop. What makes one beggar more worthy than another? Yes, I'd be more inclined to give to a handicapped person or a woman with children, than a seemingly able bodied man. But what about all the refugees in Egypt that I know personally. Their names, their histories, their pains. Giving money to a person with a name, rather than just a passing hand, means a loss of anonimity. Expecting appreciation, acknowledgement? The selfish alturist?

I'm reminded of a travel story by a young American woman that I read years ago, before I knew I'd end up in Ghana, called Somebody's Heart is Burning. While volunteering in Ghana, she meets a man traveling on the same boat for a few days. She writes:

Two weeks had passed since the day a devout man with cracked feet and glowing
eyes had asked me for my shoes. I remembered the disappointment I'd felt when
he'd asked. I'd taken him for an angel, and there he was behaving like a human
being. I realized, suddenly, that I'd spent much of my time in African befuddled
by the notion that if a friend asked me for something, it rendered our entire
relationship suspect. But what friendship isn't a balancing act, an
ever-shifting dance of altruism and self-interest? How naïve I'd been, to
imagine that any human exchange could take place in a vacuum, let alone between a person with shoes and a person without.

My reactions to beggars, to poverty, has been something I've been intending to write about for over a year. I guess I haven't done it till now because it's something I'm still struggling with.