Harmattan (written Jan 9)

When I gracefully dismount my mountain bike (read: awkwardly near fall from) after biking home from my market town and I say to myself, “huh, it’s kinda cool out today,” I check the thermometer. 98 degrees. Kris hung the thermometer on the back of a 2x4 in our courtyard exactly so that the sun will never touch it. We’re taking actual temperature. Warmer than my average body temperature. How is it then after a 3-4 mile bike ride home on sandy/gravely, rut filled dirt road up 2 impressive hills, might I not feel like filling my entire courtyard with ice cubes (what are these mystical things I speak of?) and laying under them until the sun goes down? This, is the harmattan. Last week I thought it was here, with cool nights and mornings and dry hot afternoons. I was wrong; harmattan came this week bringing gifts of sand and hot breezes from the Sahara desert. It’s like a camel is standing over your shoulder breathing dusty hot stinky camel breath down your back. The end result is crunchy dry lips and dust covered clothes, shoes, feet, cats, goats… you get the picture.

They tell us that in February and March it’s even worse in that the nights no longer get cool. It’s just hot, all the time. Right now the coolest it’s been was 64 degrees in the morning. I’m not embarrassed to say I stepped outside the house, shuddered, yelled out loud enough for the chicken roosting on my garden fence to hear, “It’s freezing out here!” I then put on my sweater (yes I brought one, yes I’m happy to have done so), and huddled up with Sanja on my lap trying to keep us both warm. I’ve even lost feeling/had some numbness in my fingers as I bathed with cool water in the windy night. Silly right? I used to laugh aloud seeing piles upon piles of winter clothes in my market for sale. You can buy everything from snow pants to winter hats with earflaps (many may know I have several of these hats in the states; I’ve refrained so far from adding to that collection). I never understood why such things would sell here, it’s Africa! Now I get it.

Kris and I now don the look of bandits when we travel. Dust magnifies x 1 million when traveling in a tro-tro on our road. So, we wear our Milwaukee Brewers ball caps (represent!) and equally stylish bandannas tied up over our faces subjecting only our eyes to the thick air’s brutality. I’ve also perfected the art of sensing a car coming in the opposite direction, then closing my eyes and not breathing for “just long enough” to let the dust settle to an acceptable level. Fuel costs in Ghana have recently increased, so fares have become more expensive. A round trip to my district capital used to cost as much as 4.40GHC (Ghana cedis), it will now cost 5.40GHC. When you make 8GHC a day, it’s a noticeable difference. Don’t worry Mom; we still have plenty of money for food.