Saturday, November 26, 2011

this one's for Annie

I heard yesterday that Anne McCaffrey, one of my favorite authors, passed away on Monday.

I met her when I was on vacation with my family in Ireland.  Though she'd just taken a fall and bruised her arm and eye, she graciously hosted us for tea at her kitchen table.  She showed me star charts and a globe that fans had constructed of Pern, one of the worlds she created.  All of this on the Fourth of July, which was special as she's was an American, too.

Her books introduced me to my love of fantasy and sci-fi.  She leaves a special hole in the world, having been a pioneering author who was the first-woman-to of so many different places.

She'll be missed.  Local buddy T and I toasted Anne's memory last night before dinner with a special glass of Jameson Reserve.  As a hat-tip to local custom, I plan to spill some on the ground, too, to honor her.

To dragon-riding, Talent-wielding, crystal-singing, ever-journeying Anne McCaffrey - may she pass between and beyond in happiness and rest.


Here's seventeen-year-old me with Anne, hiding her black eye behind a Pern star chart.  This wonderful and unique woman was an inspiration to me and my writing.  Go in peace.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

as long as you're still walking...

Yesterday Jens got hit - in the arm - by the side mirror of a van.  Don't worry - he is absolutely fine - there is no bruise at all.  But it would have been nice for the driver who grazed him to have stopped to check.  Instead we had to chase him down.

We were walking down the street when a white van came speeding by.  I heard a soft thump and saw Jens stop short.  The van went a few feet further, paused for a few seconds, and started again on its way.  We yelled and waved, it stopped again, paused to decide, then sped down the road.  We both took off after it, yelling and screaming "STOP!"  Some interested passersby asked what was going on and I told them eagerly before running off again.

In Accra there's a strong notion of "street justice."  A few months ago we heard about a case on the UG campus where a woman accused of stealing was caught and abused by a gang of male students, and recorded on phone video cameras (reported here and blogged about here, for a start).  If two cars bump each other on the road, a screaming match is just around the corner.  So it's no surprise that the driver who hit Jens took off.

What did surprise me is that the onlookers didn't do anything about it.

I was hoping I'd get some kind of crowd following the van or that the word would spread down the street faster than the car.  Instead they just listened to my story and urged me to run.

Turns out the van was headed to a hotel two blocks away.  Jens caught up with it as it screeched into the gated courtyard.

The driver's explanation for his hit-and-run?

  • I was in a big hurry to get here.
  • You were walking in the middle of the road.
  • People get hit with side mirrors all the time.
And the kicker, folks:
  • I saw you could still walk, so I knew you were okay.
Anyway, the driver continued, I said I was sorry.  What more can I do?

It's true.  There's not much in the way of auto insurance here.  The police, we are strongly sure, would not have done anything.  Jens's arm was feeling okay right afterwards.  (Today it doesn't even hurt, let alone have a bruise - lucky he didn't get hit any worse.)  It was incredibly frustrating, though.  Had Jens been truly injured, would the driver honestly have thought more seriously about stopping - or been faster to run away?  Is an apology after you try to flee the scene really enough?

I went to the doctor today with a coworker (this relates, I promise) - she has tonsillitis, I have an ear infection, and now we both have antibiotics - and she was saying that doctors here don't listen as much when white people complain.  They think we exaggerate every pain we have.  So when she told the nurses the blood pressure cuff was squeezing her arm too tightly, they told her it only hurt because she was speaking while it was measuring.  Though she had started to speak only after it started hurting.  There wasn't any acknowledgement of her pain, or that something might truly be wrong.  There was only the need for blame to fall elsewhere.  And if she was still able to talk, presumably, they thought she was okay.

There's no question that obronis in Accra often have more wealth, possessions, and opportunities than a vast majority of the people they interact with every day.  That doesn't mean, though, that each of our experiences is less worthy - or that our words should have any less impact.  Being able to afford an extra cedi or two for each taxi ride doesn't mean I should be required to pay it.  

I heard of a friend who was overcharged 10 pesewas (cedi-cents) on some fruit she bought, and when she brought it up the vendor looked at her earnestly and said, "I need it more than you."  Does that give the fruit vendor the right to take more money from one person than from another?

A culture clash, indeed.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

sick, again

I'm home sick today!

It's the second time I've been sick since getting this job.  Something's going around; I know of at least four people in my section of the office alone who've been under the weather this week.

My nose is running so much I think it's training for a marathon.

I'm keeping the A/C off to preserve humidity (for my sore throat) and heat (to help me sweat the bugs out).  I'm glad for once it's the natural state here, rather than having to create it like in Ireland.  But it's still not comfortable.

Today I'm gonna watch some movies and make myself soup.  Throw potatoes, rice, bouillon and veggies into a pot with water, boil it up, and voila: sustenance.

I really, really hope this does not become a pattern (yet again, like in Ireland).  I vow not to go out with my hair wet and I might go see the doctor for allergy testing to make sure there's not some mold in the A/C, despite assurances that the machines at work are serviced regularly.  And I've actually been here both times they've come to service the machines at our house, so I know that definitely goes on every three months.  What luck we had, finding a landlady who is so worth her salt.