Phase Two: Negotiation

Hi there. I hope everything with you is well. Let me catch you up on what’s been happening with me.

On Thursday, we met back up with the med students and walked around to get food. The power was out in the whole city for the remainder of the night, so only one place was really open and all they were serving was white rice. Fine by me. We all ordered and went into the maze of the restaurant in order to sit down. A lantern was given to us and we all ate. They asked me questions about how I got here, and they were all pretty marveled that I’m here by myself. “I would be so lonely,” commented one student. Gee, I never thought of it that way. I felt a tinge of sadness but I pushed it back.

Yesterday, I was supposed to go to Accra with the Care Net employees but there was a discrepancy with the car so we ended up never going. I was showered and dressed by 5:45 and I took my malaria medicine. The same feeling I had a few days prior came back, and I instantly felt sick. I couldn’t believe it, would this be a regular thing? It’s not like I can’t take my medicine, the alternative is significantly worse. In that moment, we all thought we were going to Accra so I tried to eat some breakfast and only ended up being able to stomach one bite before gagging. I lie down and fell asleep. I woke up around 10:00am and assumed that they either went to Accra without me, or the whole thing fell apart (turns out it was the latter). I still felt sick and tried to drink water. I drank a liter. I was talking to the employees, who came over for lunch, and told them about the love of my life, Gary the dog. They were really interested and laughed at the pictures. That sting of sadness returned, but I couldn’t push it back. I wanted to cry. I missed my dog more than I’ll ever care to admit, and I missed being home.

I didn’t want to eat; my stomach wasn’t up to it. Most Ghanaian food is really heavy, and that’s not what a girl wants when she’s nauseous. I wanted toast. I wanted peanut butter. I wanted a Ninja Turtle Popsicle from the Skippy truck. I wanted to be home. I wanted chicken noodle soup, not banku with spicy okra. I couldn’t shake this feeling. I read for a while and a tear or two escaped my eyes. I told myself to stop. Frieda came into the room and asked if I wanted to go to the market. I needed a good distraction, so I said yes. We left and I immediately regretted what I was wearing. I chose a maxi dress for the day, anticipated a good portion of my day in an air conditioned car. Whoops.

We walk to the market, and I’m already drenched in sweat. It’s an abnormal amount, though. I keep moving forward. I feel weak from not eating all day and see a woman selling corn cobs (a relatively common street food, as I’ve noticed). I ask Frieda about the details of that and figure that would be my dinner. She sold two boiled corn cobs for fifty pesewas, roughly a quarter. We buy a pineapple (it’s my favorite fruit, after all) and Frieda gets a skirt. We greet the med students once more and we are walking all over the market. It’s huge and chaotic; if you’re curious to see it check out Google (I was afraid to bring my camera). In the most crowded parts of the market, trash was everywhere. Trenches were full of waste water. The market took on different scents as you passed the vendors. Some were selling soaps (smelled scarily like Lush), some selling fruits (my favorite smell of all), but the closer you got to the middle, the more every good smell was overpowered by the smell of sewage and trash.

I was feeling very weak at this point and wanted to leave. We walked down a corner to the meat section, and I see a bunch of live animals. Chickens in the hundreds, feet and wings tied. People are calling off prices. Goats are corralled into makeshift fences. This was where you buy your meat. I didn’t want to see. Animals hold a very special place in my heart, and this seemed to be it for me. My desire to cry amplified. We left soon after and I held it together for a record amount of time. We get back to the apartment and I immediately change into shorts and a tank top. I eat my corn, which wasn’t half bad. I started crying during my only meal of the day. I told myself to stop. I was alone then, and only cried when I was alone. I didn’t want Frieda to get concerned. I finish my corn and lay down to read. A few more tears fall. It was going to be a long day. At the market, I bought a Nigerian movie (I saw a few commercials for them and they’re pretty much the cheesiest thing in existence). Frieda told me to make sure it works, and so I popped it in. It worked, and I watch one of the movies (the disc came with 10 movies in one). It was so bad. It was a great distraction. After the movie, I got on the internet and shot out a few emails. It was then that the crying really began. It was dark in the room, the only sense of privacy I had. I couldn’t go outside, there are people (and mosquitoes) everywhere. I could go in the other room, but that’s silly. I felt sad. I feel sad. I miss home; I miss a lot of things.

I had no idea that culture shock would hit me this hard. I want to see my dog. I want to sit on a couch. I want to see my reflection in a mirror. I want to take a shower and wash my hands. I want to eat more than once a day. I want cold water. I don’t want to be afraid of walking outside once the sun sets. I want to see my family and my friends. I want to be home. I started crying, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to go home. I was living in the worst conditions I’ve ever been exposed to. I feel ill all the time, and I dread peeing in the afternoon because of the sheer stench of the pit below the toilet. I miss the option of choice, being able to choose if I want to use the internet, being able to choose to have a light on or off, being able to choose what to make for dinner (and then have the resources to go get the ingredients and make it). I think the med student said it perfectly: “I would be so lonely.” It was only after she said it that I realized how alone I feel. I am living with someone who has lived in the Volta region of Ghana her entire life. She can’t even begin to understand what is going on in my mind. She has no idea what I left in America. I think things would be easier if I was with someone, anyone to share this awful feeling of culture shock with.

I cried for a while and I developed a really bad headache. My eyes felt like rocks and I thought it was time to lie down. I pulled the mosquito net down and continued crying, not being able to sleep. The mosquito net does a really great job of insulating my heat in an already-boiling room. I spent a long time trying to find a comfortable spot. I pulled my sheet over me in an attempt to comfort myself. It only made me warmer. I fell asleep for a little while, and woke up to my headache. It seemed to have migrated to the back of my head. My whole skull was pounding and I felt like I was running a fever. Something wasn’t right. I drank a few sips of water and began to gag. I threw up and ran outside. I threw up about a liter of water and began to shake a little. I was worried. Frieda heard the door slam and brought me a sachet of water. I drank a little but felt too weak to finish it. I tried to lie down but was even sicker. I went into the other room with my computer and tried to find potential doctors’ offices in the Akatsi area. I also read the terms and conditions of my travel insurance for leaving the country. I felt terrible.

I wanted to leave Ghana. I regretted coming. I haven’t felt this alone in a long time. I began crying again and the terrible headache escalated to near-migraine status. I turned off my computer. The heat in the sleeping room was unbearable and I figured that a few more mosquito bites (because I already have about forty) wouldn’t kill me, so I let up the mosquito net and some relatively fresh air circulated. I fell asleep only then, at 3:00am.

And so here is where you come in. What’s going on with me? I feel like if I left Ghana, I would be a failure. I would consider myself one, anyway. There’s something wrong with me, but I can’t quite pin what it is. It only seems to happen at night, though. I’m not sure what’s going on. How is it that I can handle any problem thrown at me at school, but am having a very hard time living here? Will this ever pass? I don’t usually ask for help, but I think this is a time that I will be. My only steady form of communication is through texting. I can receive unlimited text messages to my phone, but I can only send out 50, which is reserved for my mother (no offense). However, if you ever felt like sending me a text here and there, I won’t respond but you will make my day. Is that pathetic?

I’m sorry to have taken on a somber tone in this post. This is about my experience, and culture shock is a pretty huge part of an abroad experience, yes? Hopefully I overcome this.