hard at work (written Jan 9)

This week (the week of Jan 10-14) will be a busy one for me*. The village baby weighing Monday, yay babies! I’m helping another PCV with an HIV/AIDS workshop for the next 2 weeks. I’ll be conducting a review session at the end of each day consisting of Q&As and a truth or myth presentation. I’ve also organized a communal workday on market day for the village to mold 500 of the local bricks. With the bricks, we’ll make two bathhouses and a latrine for the nurse I’ve been working to get in the village. My original goal for having the clinic open was January, now I’ll be lucky if we’re open by March. I also will be meeting with the District’s new Medical Director to discuss ideas and goals for the district. I’m looking forward to seeing whether we have similar ambitions. I’m also working on making another garden off the back of our house. It will be a model garden for the clans in the village who want to have a Moringa garden. I’m planning to get funding for enough bamboo for a garden large enough for 40-50 trees for each clan to have a Moringa garden. Kris and I will make our own for reference.

We’ve been at site about 5 months and in Ghana about 7 months and I can tell the rest of our time here will fly by. Kris and I are slowly becoming known for our cooking and baking skills. It’s a pain for other volunteers to travel to our site for a visit, but with mango bread, fresh cow milk and chili, they might keep coming back, I hope so, we love visitors. I keep saying this, but the days do go by slowly, but the months seem to fly by. Before I know it, it’ll be June and there will be some new Peace Corps Trainees in Ghana, I won’t be new anymore, I’ll be one of those older, wiser, tougher and unshakable volunteers. I hope you all are enjoying the New Year. I know it’s cold back home, quit complaining and come visit me! I promise you won’t need to bring more than t-shirts and shorts; you won’t need a sweater like me.

*(written January 12) Lesson learned, don’t overextend yourself. As some of you know, I got dysentery this week. It was not planned into my busy schedule, yet overtook all of my plans. Let’s just say I didn’t think 20 trips to the latrine in one day was possible, especially with no food in ones stomach. I am now into day 3/3 of antibiotics and think I’m beginning to feeling better. I doubt I’ll be at full strength for awhile, but will do my best to take it easy and return to normal. I’m starting to eat again and have been trying my best to replace fluids in greater amounts than they are lost, seemingly impossible without an IV. Kris is holding up his part of the sickness/health bargain (once again). Even though it seems like I’ve been a magnet for illness, I’d rather it be me than him, I’m perfectly fine distracting myself from feeling sick by watching endless amounts of TV shows whereas he’s not quite as patient. Thanks for all of the thoughts, concern, and prayers. I have an amazing support system back home and couldn’t do any of this without you.

Snake! (written Jan 9)

In other news, Kris killed a black cobra yesterday (Jan 8). I’ll let him share the details of the actual slaying, I’ll just tell you what I saw. Another PCV and I were biking back from Kpassa so she could share a meal and company with us for the day. We arrived nearly unrecognizable due to, you guessed it, dust. Kris went to put our bikes in the room attached to our house; he jumped back out of the room proclaiming he saw a black snake. I remembered there are no black mambas in Ghana, but unluckily we have a similarly poisonous black snake in the black cobra. He started in the room after it; I picked up the phone and called a friend in the village. I told him we had a black snake in our house, he said, “I’m coming,” and in a minute he arrived.

The other PCV and I were observing from a close distance (me with camera in hand) while the men were seeking out the snake in our cluttered room. After several minutes I could hear a loud thumping noise (Richard with his large strong stick) and a clanking of metal on concrete (Kris with our small garden shovel). Once it was deemed dead, Kris brought it out, dangling from a couple small sticks. Snakes have blood inside them, this was the first time I visualized said statement. The snake was sentenced to death by beating, then cremated. We did not eat it, and I think the rationale behind burning it was to protect the kids who would inevitably poke around in our trash pile. Certainly a venomous snake albeit dead should be neither a child’s toy nor dinner.

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.

Dear Blog

I think an apology is in order.  We have fallen off the wagon and failed to add a post to you for over a month now.  It's not you, it's us.  We've just been so busy...  I have been on term break from Dec 17 to Jan 10, so no teaching, at least not officially, though I did teach a few extra classes during the break which were voluntary for the form 2s (8th grade).  Tricia and I went to Atimpoku, just below Akosombo dam on the Volta river, for Tricia's birthday.  We also sneaked in a trip to Accra for our flu (H1N1 and seasonal) vaccine and Hep C shots.  Then we went back to Kpassa for Christmas, which was spent in the house the whole day, opening presents (thanks!) and eating a boxed homestyle bake ("turkey stew and stuffing" - delicious), cranberry sauce and brownies.  Even though it was just the two of us, we had plenty of things that made it feel like Christmas at home, and we also talked over the phone with family back home.  After Christmas we hosted 6 other PCVs that were on a marathon trek up through the Volta and Northern regions.  They are all serving in the Eastern region of Ghana, and were surprised with some of the regional differences (dirt roads, naked children).  But we wowed them with chili and mango bread and watermelon, and we were grateful for the company.  In other news, apparently our house is capable of sleeping 8 people.  They left early the next morning, and we started packing for a stay in Nkwanta the next two days with some other PCVs in the area (plus a German volunteer with a British NGO).  We relaxed, talked about our service so far, and, of course, made some awesome food.  Tricia and I contributed cheesy enchilada casserole and homemade fudge (thanks to my mother-in-law for the ingredients!).  Then we came back to site on New Year's Eve, as promised, to experience how people in the area celebrate the new year.  At night on the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd (and on the 4th a bit too), they played jams (hip hop music) from giant speakers, well into the night.  They also wore their "Christmas clothes," which is an outfit they buy leading up to Christmas so they can wear it and parade around the village looking good.  Everyone from age 1 and up was decked out in new fabric.  Some wore more traditional dress, others went for more of a Westernized look, with blue jeans and bright "Aeropostale" or "gucci" shirts, which are considered just as formal.  Western culture is permeating Ghana, but it sometimes manifests itself differently.  After the series of sleepless nights from the never-ending thumping bass, the New Year was sufficiently celebrated, and everything went back to normal.  And by normal I mean guys walking by on their way to farm (out in the bush) with their machetes, women fetching water from the boreholes and firewood from the bush, and children running around, unsupervised, naked or in underwear. 

So, I guess we were busy, but not busy enough that we couldn't write.  So we'll make it up to you, blog.  Promise.

Weather

Since arriving here in Ghana one of the topics on our minds the most has been the weather.  Even though we left the US during a pleasantly warm Wisconsin May, the almost-permanent heat and humidity in the south of Ghana was debilitatingly intense.  I don’t think the temperature ever dropped below 70F throughout training.  It would usually start out in the upper 70’s at dawn and ratchet up into the 90’s by about four or five in the afternoon, when the sun started to make its hasty retreat toward the horizon (on the equator the period of “twilight” is shorter).  So, if you are getting up at 6am to take advantage of the cooler time of day (and if you are serious about getting sleep), that means you are going to bed between 9 and 10pm, when it is just a shade cooler than the hottest time of the day.  In a word, it is miserable.  I have adapted by using the warm-weather clothing I stocked up on before leaving the US: nylon khaki pants, thin cotton polos, poly performance shirts. I could count on my fingers the number of days I have worn close-toed shoes here.  Why no shorts?  Well, teachers are encouraged to look professional, as appearance counts for quite a bit (most days my counterpart wears pants and a long-sleeve dress shirt, and dress shoes).  Here in northern Volta we are outside the “southern sauna,” but relief is fleeting.  Kpassa is on the border between forest and savanna.  Just ten miles to the south you will see tall trees blanketing the slopes of the Togolese mountains.  Around here the mountains are a bluish mirage on the horizon, and trees are only sparsely scattered across the land.  Even in the wet season, which just ended in November, the humidity is generally lower than in the south.  The sun, though, feels more intense, maybe because there is less moisture in the atmosphere through which to penetrate.  On a completely clear day, it is like you were shoved into an oven.  By mid-day, the few people that don’t have work to do (read: men) are sitting under mango trees, waiting for the sun to take a more bearable angle.  On school days I have at least two fifteen minute sessions with the sun on my bike ride to and from.  Market days take an extra dose of gumption, as the ride is 30 minutes one way (I skipped market yesterday for lack of gumption).  In the states I loved biking, for the exercise and the pleasant feeling of air rushing past my face.  Here I loath it, mainly because the air that rushes past doesn’t rush at all, but feels like hot, sticky, tasteless jello.  After a heavy rain there is some relief, as the sun’s work of burning the earth has been doused by water.  Some evenings, when I bathed I could see steam coming off my arms and chest, a combination of the lower temperature and high humidity.  How much lower?  Still solidly in the 70’s.

Now that the rains have stopped the new meteorological feature is a phenomenon called “harmattan.”  I think it will make me wish for the heat and humidity to return.  Supposedly it is much cooler at night, though I’m not sure what that means (60’s maybe?  Ghanaians don’t have thermometers and their definition of cold is anything below 80).  In the day it is still scorching, though the lack of humidity provides some relief.  Oh, and there is dust.  Winds come down from the Sahel (maybe even the Sahara?) and blow dust across the land until everything is a shade of ruddy earth.  The grasses dry up quickly, and people here like to catch bush meat by burning large swaths of bush and wait for the animals to escape fire only to be trapped or shot (sounds fair, right?), and the fires get stoked by wind and get out of control quickly.  They can burn for months until the rains come again.  Even at the beginning of the season, I have seen my share of plumes on the horizon, and the horizon itself is hazier even than in the cloud-heavy wet season.

After harmattan, in February and March, they tell me it gets hot.  How hot?  Well, hotter than any other season.  I personally don’t think it’s possible that it could get any hotter.  The only thing you can do, apparently, is drink plenty of water (Gatorade, even) and sleep outside (the heat is too unbearable to sleep inside).  So I have made hammock anchors for the courtyard wall for when the time comes.

Finally, in June, the rains come again to cool things down a bit, and the cycle repeats.  At least in a normal year.  I have already heard of anomalies to these seasons, the most stark one being that the wet season lasted at least a full month longer than expected.  Will it compensate for this with a wet season that starts one month later?  I have heard weather in West Africa can vary significantly from the norm.  On top of that, if I ask five people about the seasons I will usually get five different answers.  So I guess I’ll just find out when it happens. That last realization is especially tough for me, being that I was addicted to weather and forecasting (I checked the temperature and radar ten times a day). I will probably seem strange when I come back to the states because when someone asks me about the weather I will probably just look up and guess at what will happen next.