being thankful.

Today I would like to thank:

 

1. Madame Redeemer at the Ghana immigration office for smiling and calming me down.  I get nervous when I talk to officials.

2. Rejoice in the kitchen at work for dashing me baking chocolate for dessert.  It is helping me get through the day!

3. Louise, my desk-neighbor, for the Vitamin C - another source of energy.

4. My aunt, uncle, cousin and cousin-in-law-to-be for their exciting and fun-filled visit.

 

I submitted my work permit application today, one year to the day after being issued my residence permit for Ireland.  It's surreal the places life brings you.

 

Work's crazy; we're trying to figure out the smoothest way to reach the extra 1000-file target.  The path's full of backtracks, parallel ways, and inconsistencies.  It'll smooth out in a while; just wish I was part of the smooth-ed and not the smooth-ing stage.  It's so frustrating to hear four different instructions in the same day!

 

Snags in my system include the hair stylist who I finally got in touch with today - but she is going away for a month starting tonight.  No haircut this weekend.  I guess I'll wait another month for the new style... making 11 months from one haircut to the next!  Another snag is that both taxi drivers who I wanted to take my family to the airport tonight are unavailable, and we'll end up having to find someone on the road who'll undoubtedly charge more.  OH WELL!  Such is life sometimes and you can't do anything but smile, because getting fed up doesn't help anybody.

Back!

Updates:

 

Two weeks' vacation in Germany with a quick break to Belgium meant I was able to use my German skills and even French for a couple of days.  I was blown away by my own German level - able to hold conversations - often simplified, sometimes halting, but nearly always able to convey my point without a word of English for support.  I went clothes shopping in German, chatted about family stories in German, discussed menus in German, and even watched a few TV shows in German. 

 

Every day was a new reward.  Realizing that I could do SO MUCH in another language, which I only started learning two years ago (!) and still had plans to improve on... made me realize that living there would be possible if I wanted to.  I just gotta get a hold on some of those dialects!  First things first: BF's local dialect, Badisch, which practically speaking doesn't use the genitive (the possessive case, and the one I'm most confident with.  Phooey.)

 

Still waiting to find out my German test results from December, but I anticipate I'll be going back to the Goethe starting next week for the C1 (first advanced level) class so I'm not in a big rush to find out.

 

Just minutes ago, I finally got my very own security pass printed at work.  I've been working here since the end of September, but was the first new hire since the computer crashed - and when I say "the" computer, I mean the only one that has the security pass printing software and equipment.  I feel a bit more "permanent," having a personalized pass with my photo on it rather than a "Visitor, Unescorted" badge.  Next step towards permanence is to get my work permit finalized; they're waiting for me in the permit office tomorrow, where I went today forgetting about the application fee I need to submit with the application!

 

I returned from holidays and got ahold of a new phone, which is a quick and shiny gadget but not fundamentally different from my other phone.

 

And finally, my family is visiting!  Aunt, uncle, cousin and cousin's fiance are all staying in our place until Wednesday.  It's a very lucky thing we have so much space at our house.  We're sleeping seven people at the moment, though two are consigned to a mattress in the living room.  The family is a great source of fun.  We're playing Charades tonight: a family tradition.  I wonder if BF or roommate will participate? 

Harmattan is coming!

At this time of year at home, I know Coke should be rolling out the ever-so-traditional Santa Claus commercials.  I remember the old days when the hushed, excited choir would murmur, "Santa packs are coming!  Saaanta packs are coming!"  Santa Packs were, of course, the limited-edition printed boxes of Coke cans that came out at Christmastime.  Then, a good few years ago, it changed to "Holidays are coming!  Hooolidays are coming!"  Part of me appreciated Coke's acknowledgement that December didn't only mean Santa (and therefore Christmas), but a bigger part of me always knew the hat-tip was hollow.  Where in any of the Coke commercials have you seen a Solstice celebration, a single hanukiyah in the gleaming windows, or the Kwanzaa colors of red, black and green?

Anyway, Coke's little earworm is the tune I'm imagining when I read the title of this post.

Harmattan is the dusty season.  It's caused by sandstorms in the Sahara and lasts from December to February.  Harmattan is a time which brings a bit of cool relief from the hot season (it has been sweaaaa-tee around here lately).  It also brings low humidity, hazy days and thus bad photography conditions and cancelled flights, and I've heard it is the time when most locals catch their colds.

For the past couple of weeks, sunrises and sets have been getting ever pinker, oranger and hazier.  I've started to see mist high in the skies along with the sparse clouds.  Streetlights (when they work) have been illuminating columns of particles in the air above the roads.  And then, this morning, I looked out from my balcony towards the city, and realized I couldn't see any of the farther-away landmarks I'm used to spotting. 

Yes, harmattan is definitely coming.  I'll be away for two weeks of it over Christmas time, and I'm looking forward to seeing what it's like with the enthusiasm of someone who's never seen it before!

Work's been crazy - we had a hardware issue last week and were disconnected from the internet until Friday.  There's a huge project HQ wants us to complete which is above and beyond the annual targets HQ themselves set for us, and means we'll need to process about 1000 extra files, and the system we use to deal with those files was the only one that still functioned.  So we used the outage time for a lot of people to do preliminary work on a handful of those files to help me with my impending case load. 

It's like my colleague explained to my seamstress (working hard on my choir uniform, which looks gorgeous!): imagine you have no power; you can do a bit of work sewing by hand, and during daylight hours, but a lot of your bigger capacity is gone.  It was a four-day blow in a very busy office, and now we are totally backlogged.

We've got a choir show coming up on Thursday; any readers who are in Accra should come see.  Goethe Institut, 7 PM, entrance 5 cedis to benefit Street Girls Aid (check them out at www.said-ghana.com).  It won't last more than an hour.  We've been working very hard on these songs and it will really be a treat.

Last but not least, I took my German exam last week... we'll know this week how I did.  Although I definitely made a few mistakes, I also think I did a pretty good job.  Which would mean that next year (if I choose to continue) I'd be starting an advanced German course.  Advanced!  I feel like I could do with a repeat of the past level or two just to solidify my knowledge... I haven't been a very good student when it comes to doing homework, learning new verb tenses or studying at all outside of class time.  Though I can read magazine texts, children's stories and comic books with little assistance, I don't have the confidence to speak.  Hoping that two weeks in Germany will help with that - knowing that people will understand me if I just open my mouth, no matter if the pronoun ending doesn't agree with the number or whatever my worry may be.

expectations... stories... of Hohoe and the tourism that wasn't

Last weekend was a full and total exercise in Things Not Going to Plan.  J and I resolved ourselves to be content nevertheless - and we succeeded.


The Plan:
Spend a long weekend away doing a couple of touristy activities, relaxing in a chill hotel at night run by rastafarians.
Leave early Friday morning; take public transport to the hotel near to Hohoe, about a 4-hour ride away.  Possibly have enough time to hit the lower part of Wli Falls during the day.
Wake up EARLY Saturday to see the monkeys at Tafi Atome monkey sanctuary.  Then maybe to Wli Falls, or maybe back to the rasta pad to chill.
Sunday: wake up early if we didn't do so Saturday, and see the monkeys.  Return to Accra on public transportation so J can catch his flight at 8:15 Sunday evening.


First.  We tripped a fuse in our house at 7:30 in the morning when I shorted out the electric kettle.  There was water in the wrong place on that one.  We checked every fuse we knew in the house and downstairs from the mains.  Thinking this could take a long time to figure out, I called the hotel to cancel our booking.  Eventually we had to call the landlady, who had to call in an electrician - who came an hour later, unlocked a separate part of the house and flipped on the fuse easily.  If only we - or the guards - had known there was yet another set of controls in yet another locked part of our building, we'd easily have been able to save that time.

It's 10:30 and we decide we can juuust make it before dark.  I call the hotel again to un-cancel and we head out the door.  Catch a taxi to Madina, where there's a station for departing tro-tros to such destinations as Koforidua, Kumasi and Hohoe.  The taxi took 30 or 40 minutes; it was two hours before we were in a tro-tro.

It's 1:00 PM and we decide that if no car has come by 1:30, there's no way we can make it to the place in time.  Ten minutes later, our car comes.  On the way we sit next to a nice woman who shares some of her snacks with us - white kenkey, which must not be fermented, tastes like solidified grits and is served in a corn husk - with salt, I think.  Not half bad!  We also stop on the way for some freshly boiled corn cobs, dunked in coconut water and wrapped in a plastic bag.  The cobs are so young, they've still got tender baby-corn tips.  Corn is back in season!  Mangoes are ripening on the trees.  I've never seen a mango tree so loaded with huge fruits as I did on this ride.  Can't wait.  They'll definitely be ripe by the time we get back from our Christmas & New Year's vacation in Germany.

It's a 2 1/2-hour ride to Peki, which we think will be a little town near Hohoe.  Peki turns out to be a couple of buildings in the middle of nowhere.  But the people at Roots are really nice, the food's ital (vegan menu) and we have a nice time chatting with the parents of the lady of the house - who are here on their annual visit and are farmers back in the UK.  Another of their daughters runs Green Turtle Lodge, which is a buzzword in expat circles around here.  Thanks to the in-house book swap shelf, I spend a couple hours reacquainting myself with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which I haven't traipsed around in since high school.  J finds a book on happiness coauthored by HH the Dalai Lama.

It's chilly in the mountains!  Our bed is provided with only a sheet.  I wake up freezing in the middle of the night, and as a blanket I grab the towel which I turned back to fetch as we were leaving home.

Saturday morning was not for the monkeys.  We decide to have breakfast and head to Hohoe, to get a taxi to Wli Falls.  We know this should be a five-hour hike so we start waiting for cars around 9:15.  Many cars pass; all are full.  Finally around 10 one stops to let us on.
Half an hour later, we thought we'd already be in Hohoe.  we have no phone reception and thus no idea where we actually are.
An hour into the car ride, we pass Tafi Atome, the monkey sanctuary.  J gets phone reception and realizes we're halfway to Hohoe.
So much for a half-hour bus trip.  We also decide that we can't do the monkeys on Sunday, either - waiting for a tro-tro, traveling an hour to the monkeys, seeing them, traveling an hour back to the lodge, then waiting for another tro-tro back - when J wants to be back in Accra by 3 or 4 latest.

Some time after that we pass the scene of a horrific head-on car accident.  A body has been lain facedown on the side of the road and from the shoulders up is covered with leaves.  As we pass, many of the passengers on our car whistle quietly or cluck their tongues.  What a shame, they are saying.  How horrible.  I can't begin to think about it - but I do.  And then I start freaking out about mortality, and realize exactly why people cling to God.  It's very comforting to me to think there's something bigger out there which decides (or has already decided) my time to go - and that my time isn't now.  Reassuring myself that my time isn't now, even though we are seated in the front seat and probably most likely to be injured in the case of an accident, I am able to reassess the day's plan with J.

Arriving in Hohoe at noon, with darkness falling around 6 PM, there is no way we can do the full five-hour waterfall hike.  Even the lower falls, which are an hour's hike, would be a big stretch.  Do the math: arrive at the falls at 1, hike there and back until 3, drive back to Hohoe and arrive at 4, then we'd be pushing 6 to get back to Peki if the tro-tro left the instant we got in.  And that doesn't include any time for lunch.

So we resolve to hang around Hohoe and lament not having brought the travel guide this once for guidance on where to eat.  We see a sign for the Hotel Geduld (German for "patience") and take it as a sign.

Lunch is tasty.  As we sit down to eat, the carabiner lid of my water bottle shears off and breaks.  There's a hole left in the lid so I can't keep any water in that bottle any more.  And my touch phone's keyboard program realizes there's an update available and won't let me type until I install it.  which I can't do without an internet connection.  Which means no Swyping for the next 24-plus hours.

The owner of the Geduld advises us to check out the festival that's going on this weekend, so we dutifully trek over there, planning to get out of town around 3.  We park ourselves tantalizingly at the edge of a shade tent and watch the speeches, performances, and attending local chiefs under festive umbrellas.  In some ways boring, but in other ways fascinating people-watching.

15 minutes in, J realizes some chocolate has melted all over the inside of his backpack.  When I bend to help him wipe it with my handkerchief, we are both distracted and someone snatches my point-and-shoot camera from his pocket.
He'd been borrowing mine until Christmas, when he'll pick up a replacement for the one which was stolen in South Africa in September.

We head for home.  I've been shaken so many times this day and haven't gotten to - and won't get to - see anything I hoped for.
J says he's having a nice weekend, anyway, spending the time together despite every setback.
We get into the tro-tro at 3 and are assured it's leaving "right now."
It leaves at 4.  We reach Roots half an hour before nightfall.

Back at Roots, we make the most of the relaxation.  J reads that people tend to return to a baseline level of happiness no matter what.

We have plantain chips and guacamole, then deliciously spiced tofu kebabs on top of garden egg (eggplant's cousin) stew.  We're given a second and third sheet for the bed; the third one turns out to be a tablecloth.  Roots's Head Man realizes that they should think about offering blankets when the weather turns chilly.

Overnight we are toasty under our sheets and tablecloth.  In the morning we eat toast with peanut butter and honey (him) and scrambled tofu (me), washed down with a spicy soy-milk chai, and begin the wait for a car back.

Inside Accra, tro-tros will smush four passengers to a row of seats - which is the closest you can get and remain marginally comfortable, not to mention legal.  On every other ride this trip we lucked out with three to a row.  The car that stopped for us has already got that.  J squishes in as the fourth in a row, and so do I - so the mate (fare taker and signaler to the driver of when to stop) wedges my knees between his legs and rides backwards sitting on a ledge.  And we get pulled over at a police checkpoint.  The mate is berated, within earshot and in English, about the impression they are making on "those foreigners" - that Ghanaians are ignorant or lazy.  I have never had that impression from a packed tro-tro!  I can only assume these guys dashed the policeman (out of the foreigners' sight, clearly) and headed out.

The route ends in Kpong, where there's a big station for tro-tros and we are able to catch a car to Accra.

From there it's a hot ride that's over soon enough with the help of a nap.  We get out at MaxMart and do some shopping, and arrive home at 2 PM.

A quick taxi ride brings us to a late Sunday lunch at Mamma Mia's with cold Peronis for hot obronis, fresh pizza with zero waiting time, and a calmer outlook on life than has been had all weekend.



I'm proud of us for rolling with the punches.  I'm disappointed that Roots booked itself as "convenient" to Hohoe, Wli Falls or Tafi Atome - it's not, and especially not without a car.  I'm disappointed we'll have to cover all that ground over again when we actually do have a chance, better-informed this time, to do the falls and the monkeys.

Still, maybe we can make a bigger trip of it and visit the Cedi Bead Annex on the way, plus the pottery maker in Kpando and an Ewe kente village.  Maybe we can do all that on a longer trip.  And I did have a nice stay at Roots itself.  Next time, we just need some blankets - and different expectations.



I have a quotation framed in my room back home (at Mom 'n Dad's) which reads: "Most things in life can be summed up as a good time, or a good story."

Hope this story has kept you entertained, at the least.

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.

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.

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.