Not To Be Rash, But...

In the past two days, I think I may have walked about thirty feet. I have been sitting/laying in my bed for the rest of the time. There’s definitely something wrong with me, it doesn’t take my scientific background to know that much. I have a pretty significant amount of mosquito bites, most of them on my legs. Recently, more began to show up on my arms. The ones that don’t itch have faded into a strange yellow hue and it makes me look like I’ve been the subject of a marble tossing match gone wrong.

I feel weak. When I stand, my legs ache, my entire body aches. My Ithacalves, my proud and beautiful rocks of leg muscle, are beginning to deteriorate. It saddens me. I think that may be the product of how little I’ve eaten in the past few days. Yesterday wasn’t a very good day. I spent a lot of the day alone, gratefully, and I spent most of it trying to overcome this emotional state I’ve been in. I woke up in a sweat, but also cold. Interesting. I briefly skyped with my parents and my heart leapt when they brought my over to Gary, who was indulging in a Milkbone. What a ham. I began reading and playing Solitaire on and off. I’ve gotten pretty good at Solitaire, with a not-bad winning percentage of 9%. Pretty impressive, I’d say.

I didn’t eat much yesterday. I took my malaria medicine with trepidation. It went down alright. After not eating for a very long time, I figured my body should take in some form of nutrient so I popped a Centrum. I lie down, and about an hour later I find myself running outside. I threw up again. Second time in less than 24 hours. I wasn’t feeling well at all. I drank some water and waited for Frieda to come back to the apartment. I had to find something to eat. I had no idea how to actually cook anything; Frieda has things organized in such a way that it’s very hard to find things unless you’re her. Also, I was a little worried about dealing with a propane tank with absolutely no experience. The only thing I was left with was a pineapple I bought at the market a day earlier. I heard horror stories about fruits and vegetables in foreign countries, but I think I was beyond the point of caring. What’s more illness on top of what I already had? I took the risk. I grabbed the only knife, a mini-form of a machete, and went outside. I had no idea how to cut it, so I put the pineapple on my lap horizontally and started to attempt to carve it. I was pathetic, I’ll admit. Here I was, trying to cut a pineapple on my leg, having eaten nothing all day and running on vapors. One of the neighbors passed by, went inside her house and brought out a cutting board and bowl. She had the pineapple chunked in less than two minutes. She was my hero of the day yesterday. Once everything was cut, I was disappointed to see that there was very little pineapple in the bowl, maybe a third of a pound. I went to my lair/bed and ate it all in about ten minutes, even the core. I finished and hoped that some entity would grant the pineapple safe.

On a side note, I want to point out that the pineapple was incredible. It was white, which I thought was pretty odd, but very juicy and sweet. I wish all pineapples tasted like that one.

Frieda came back about two hours after I finished the pineapple and made me some rice. She put a spicy sauce on top. I picked around the sauce, knowing that it would amplify my nausea. I had about three bites until I was full. I spent the rest of the night as I did the entire day, restless but tired. What an oxymoron that is. The night was warm and my mosquito net didn’t help cool me down. I woke up in the middle of the night with the net draped over my feet. Being too tall for my mattress certainly isn’t the best bite prevention I can think of. I fixed it and returned under my sheet, sweating but also chilly. Another oxymoron for you. I fell into a deep sleep for the first time in a long time and woke up in extreme pain. My muscles ached; I slept in a very strange position. I rolled my neck, trying to somehow readjust it.

I woke up sweating, despite the cool day. I felt a warm sensation on my arm and discovered that I had been on my right forearm. There is a very large rash around it that concerns me. I tried researching potential causes for painful rashes but the internet did not have an answer. It drew a line around the concentrated area and the outside and plan on tracking its growth (and hopeful shrinking).

I waited a few hours before taking my malaria medicine, looking at the bottle once an hour or so in fear. I was terrified that this would begin the vicious cycle of illness and nausea. The nausea set in before I took the medication, but afterwards it definitely got worse. I drank a lot of water. A few hours later, I was panting, breathing heavy, terrified that I would throw up again. I began gagging, but managed to keep everything inside for today. I remained nauseous for the rest of the day, even now.

Frieda’s mother visited the apartment today and brought a loaf of homemade bread. I briefly went to the next room to say hello, but couldn’t physically stand for more than five minutes. I apologized to her mother that I couldn’t socialize and retreated to my bed. Another day of Solitaire for me. Later, Frieda brought me a chunk of the bread to eat and I slowly ate the entire thing. It was perfect. You could taste the love. I wish she never gave me that bread, because nothing in Ghana will ever compare. I was happy and the bread was staying down.

I took a look at my arm again after feeling some pain. It looked as if the rash was branching out and it is beginning to (as I write this) hurt my entire arm. Is this normal, to have a rash affecting the functionality of a limb? I certainly hope so. I’ll be going to the doctor’s office tomorrow to see if I can be healed. Until then, I’ll continue to play Solitaire and hope for the best. Someone please eat a potato for me, I really miss them.

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.

Akatsi Has No Internet, Just So You Know

It’s been a crazy few days over here in the blazing heat of Ghana.  I’ll give you a quick recollection of the past few days. Be forewarned, this is going to be a huge post.

Sunday Night

I went out with a few AIESEC members to get some food. We ended up taking a strange way through town that I hadn’t previously taken before.  Usually, we take a left out of the house in search of civilization, but on Sunday we took a right. It was dark outside and the streets aren’t that well-lit so I was praying that I didn’t roll my ankle on the dirt roads I was walking on. We turned the corner and the entire street was drowning in the sound of bullfrogs - it was deafening.  I hoped that they didn’t jump on me, warning who I was with that I would scream.  We walked down a shortcut, through this sketchy alley. A lot of people smiled at me and shook my hand. I heard the word obruni more than once for sure. We end up at an ice cream place, which was actually gelato. They call it ice cream, but based on the size of scoops and the consistency it was unmistakably the delicious Italian treat. I was excited. This would be the first cold food I would eat since coming here, and considering that I was sopping in sweat, it was more than welcome. I browsed the flavors and noticed a strange one called Zabajone. It was light brown, almost the color of a latte. I asked to try a sample after she told me it was red wine ice cream. I was beyond curious. It tasted slightly like red wine, but the cream dominated the flavor. I don’t think I would eat a lot of it, so I ordered a strawberry milkshake. It wasn’t very thick, but the cold was perfect. I was so happy. Sitting in air conditioning and sipping a milkshake.

On the way back, I was told that I had to lead the way. I was nervous, I should have paid more attention to my surroundings. Luckily for me I was taught how to identify my surroundings and what to do in case I get lost. during one of my environmental classes (thanks, Sentinels). If I could get my way out of the woods, surely I would be able to find my way back to the house. I was successful. The frogs were even louder on the way back, mostly because it was darker outside. I took a video so you guys could hear it. Don’t pay attention to me, I was terrified that one was going to jump out of the bushes.

Monday

I was woken up at around 9:00am and told that I was going to be picked up to leave for my internship at 10:00am. I was extremely tired but managed to get ready and entirely packed in an hour. It got to be around 10:30, and I took my copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy out of my backpack. I read, napped, and played Scramble on my phone alternately. I was told that the rain was causing delay and that my pickup should be soon. It was for this reason that I didn’t leave the house, or my room, all day. I was waiting for something that actually never came. Hours later, it was decided that I was going to be picked up tomorrow morning. Care Net Ghana’s policy is that their employees and volunteers can’t drive after dark, and if I was picked up when they arrived in Accra, nighttime would soon follow. The time was 6:30pm. I had read and napped all day, wasting an entire day in essence. I hadn’t eaten at all, and I thought that if I didn’t eat I might regret it later. I asked the people in the house where I might find some food, and they told me to go to the place I ate before.

It would be my first time venturing out alone. I’m not sure that in an ideal world, I would have chosen the nighttime to do so, but I really had no choice. I sprayed on some bug repellent, grabbed my purse, and left. I walked down the now-familiar road and walked quickly. It was a crowded night and it was quite evident that I wasn’t a local. Every child that saw me stopped and stared, yelling obruni excitedly. I smiled, and kept on my way. I reached the food stand, ordered some rice, and left. Turning on the side road, I checked to make sure that I wasn’t being followed. Ghana is a pretty trustworthy country, but the most common crime is theft. Considering that I have no Ghanaian phone, I didn’t want to get robbed.  I only ate about a quarter of the rice until I was full, noticing that a few nights prior I had eaten the entire box without a blink of an eye. My stomach had most certainly shrunk. I attempted my first Skype session that night, with decent results. I was receiving picture and sound clearly, but apparently my friend wasn’t so lucky. After seeing a screenshot from his computer, I looked like a nuclear disaster victim behind frosted glass. I promise that’s not what I look like in real life.

My friend decided to do something especially cruel to me and indulge in ice cream. I’ve never been angrier. How dare he, eat ice cream in front of someone sweating every drop of water she drinks. I pointed that out to him, he smiled, and continued doing it. He was instigating, learning from the best (me), and I told him that the next time we’re together I’ll be happily beating him with my signature weapon: a sock full of nickels.

Tuesday

I wake up the next morning to my alarm, set at 8:30. I repack what I took out the day before, and get dressed. I took my malaria medication, and for some reason it didn’t go down right. I felt ill, even more so knowing that I had a pretty significant car ride in my near future. The AIESEC members come to my room asking if I’m ready to leave, and I say yes. We grab my stuff and go outside. I meet the Care Net employees who pick me up and we head to downtown Accra to exhchange money. The way there was horrific, the roads were especially bumpy. I’m not sure if that was because the roads were actually as bad as I imagined them or because I was already feeling sick from my malaria medication earlier. I felt my stomach roll during every bump. Some of the holes in the road produced bounces that caused me to hit my head on the ceiling of the truck I was in. I wasn’t necessarily in the best shape.

Yup, this is every road.
[davestravelcorner]

I had to pay for my housing up front, and there was a discrepancy. Originally, and in the AIESEC papers, I was required to pay $100 per month for housing. Come to find out, I need to pay 15 cedi per day, and at 41 days, it adds up pretty quickly. The total I owed was 630 cedi, which is about $315, and significantly more money than I expected to pay. Because of that, I also took out some money from an ATM, expecting that where I would be going would be a little more remote than the capital.

During the money exchange, I began to feel extra ill. Disclaimer: don’t read this paragraph if you don’t like to read about vomiting, just skip over to the next paragraph.  I asked the woman I was with if there was a bathroom nearby, and she said yes. She strolled (very slowly, might I add) over to the gas station attendant, and I followed her. I began dry-heaving in the middle of the pumps, the most populated part of that particular gas station. Naturally. She got a restroom key but my body couldn’t wait, and I vomited. I kept it all in my mouth, hoping that no more would come so I didn’t have to vomit all over the gas station attendant. It would be bad enough if I was down the street from my house if this happened, but I was in the middle of Accra, Ghana: a place that is very foreign. So, we walk to the bathroom and I have vomit in my mouth. I looked so beautiful, I assure you. I get in the room, empty my mouth out and wash it with some of my drinking water. I hope that my malaria medication had fully absorbed before that happened, or else I was in trouble.

I was headed for Akatsi (ah-kaht-she), a town east of Accra. It was about a three hour drive. Getting out of Accra was terrifying, the roads were as bad as I anticipated. I felt much better after the gas station fiasco, not feeling ill during the dramatic road bumps. There were people on every road selling anything you could imagine. I found out their official titles are hawkers. I saw an expanse of highway absent of sellers, only to see the sign “No Hawkers” plastered everywhere. I put the two occurrences together. We get on the highway, and the amount of hawkers decreases as we leave the city. The highway was significantly smoother, with the exception of a few strategically placed bumps in order to control speeding. If you go too fast on these bumps, you’ll regret it. They’re almost like speed bumps, but inverted. They’re hard to see unless you know what to look for and after I while, I prepared myself for the bumps as I began to recognize them.

On the way to Akatsi, I noticed a few things. Once we were outside Accra, it was a completely different world, one without buildings. Short trees, low-lying to the ground, were sparsely arranged amongst the plains of grass and red sand.

I saw a herd of wild cows (believe it or not), led by a gigantic bull with horns three feet long. The cows were extremely skinny, compared to the fat American cows I have seen previously. There were cows of all ages and sizes in the herd. It was a strange sight. I noticed small things on the way, thinking clearer in the air conditioning. Most of the cars in Ghana still have antennae, which I found to be interesting. I also heard a commercial promoting internet with “the blazing fast speed of 21mbps,” something I have yet to fact-check to determine if that internet is indeed fast. Most of the stores, taxis, or anything owned privately, referenced Jesus or God. Ghana is a very religious nation, and they definitely make it known. Taxis on the back could say “God is good” or “Jesus saves.” Some stores have it directly incorporated into their names, such as “Blood of Jesus Food,” or “We are God’s Children Shop,” or even “Try Jesus Fashion.” There were signs all over the highway in white and red saying “Overspeeding kills! [number] Died Here!” I saw two, and the numbers were 6 and 18. I also saw huge termite mounds, six or seven feet high. Termite mounds baffle my mind, how something so small can create a structure taller than a man is beyond me.

Yup.
[ghanatravels.wordpress.com]

I passed through several towns before arriving at Akatsi. The names include: Dawa, Addokope, Kasseh Ada, Vume, Tefle, Sokope, and finally Akatsi. We passed over the Lower Volta Bridge, which allowed people to cross Lake Volta. It only took about five minutes to pass through the main road of each town. There were markets on each side of the road in each town, selling the same basic goods: bread, peanuts, fruits, and cell phone recharge cards.

We arrived in Akatsi and stopped at a house to pick up a mattress for me. The driver went in a house, and brought one out for me, actually two. They were twin sized, and roughly put together they were the size of a comfortable mattress topper for a dorm bed. Alone, it’s not much. We drove to a house, and got out of the car. Thinking that this would be where I would live, I got out and tried to get my things. We met the Care Net employees in Akatsi, two males and one female. That was where Sebastian and Ernesto lived, Frieda and I both got in the car and drove to where I would be living. About five minutes later, we drive down a very bumpy dirt road into a village. Chickens are running all around and I see a few goats cross here and there. We turn and stop the car. We get out and I go inside. The building has four apartments, one belonging to the landlady and three for the tenants. We go into the apartment and I see one room, roughly 15 feet by 15 feet and a door. This definitely wasn’t the AIESEC house. She opens the other door and places my bed down on the floor. I would be living in a two room shelter, with the rough combined dimensions of my living room. Frieda helps me set up my mosquito net and I notice that there is a tear in the corner, she says that it wouldn’t be a problem. I can fit my hand through it and I hoped that no mosquito would be smart enough to check every inch of the net.

She shows me where the restroom and shower is, which was around the corner of the house. It was a small house with two rooms for showering (one for the tenants, one for the landlady) and two toilets (one for the tenants, one for the landlady). There was no running water, only a pipe outside that “sometimes flowed with water, but only in the morning.” This would be another week of bucket showers for me. The toilet was shaped like a toilet, but instead of closing off, it was a big hole leading to a large pit of sewage at the bottom. The smell isn’t the most pleasant, I will say. The truck dropped Frieda and me off in town to get some lunch. I got plain rice, not wanting to get anything too crazy because of earlier events, for 1 cedi.We walked a ways down to look for the truck, and I noticed that I was being stared at the whole time. Ghanaians in the Volta region speak a different dialect than people in Accra, so I had yet to find out what their obruni equivalent is. We find the truck and head back to the house. I paid the Care Net employee named Sheila my housing fee, and she said that should be back to bring me to Hohoe sometime next week. She then left.

I got on my phone and scanned it for internet. Nothing. I asked if there was internet, but I was laughed at. This was going to be a long week. The power went out soon after and stayed out for most of the night. I relaxed for a little bit, talking to Frieda. It was obvious that she was lonely; living by yourself with no entertainment can’t be that fun. We walked into town for a bit to buy some things for dinner, and she explained to me that she’s willing to cook for me if I help out with paying for groceries. She was telling me that a lot of roadside stands in Akatsi are super expensive (5 cedis for a cup of tea) and aren’t that clean a lot of the time. She said that she’s seen people get typhoid from the food here, and I’m not about that lifestyle (I much prefer Yellow Fever or Influenza). I would like to take a lot from this trip, but a debilitating disease is most certainly not one of them. She buys some eggs, bread, and other things. We go to a small grocery shop (I’ll have to get a picture of it because it’s definitely not Wegman’s) and I get another bag of water. I also pay for this hot chocolate that Frieda serves for breakfast.

We head back to the house, and it’s nighttime. The power is still out by this point so I use my phone as a flashlight. She sprays the bedroom with insecticide and the “hall” and we sit outside on the bench for a little while. I have mosquito lotion and spray on me as well. She tells me about how incredibly male-dominated the Ghanaian lifestyle is, amongst other things. If you’d like to know more about that, ask me later (or maybe I’ll make it a post when I have a steady internet connection).The power came back on around 8:00pm and I am happy. I change into pajamas soon after and read for a little bit. We both went to sleep around 9:00pm from exhaustion, the heat definitely drains you.

It was my first night sleeping under a mosquito net. I tuck everything under my mattress and curse the tear in the net, hoping that nothing came through. There is no fan in the house at all, so the air was completely stagnant. My body heat seemed to be trapped in the net as well, and I was restless the whole night. I tossed and turned, quite literally, each time being awake enough to make sure that I don’t disturb the mosquito net. It gets to be around 1:00am and I had to pee. Worst timing ever. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stealthily crawl out of my net and head to the outhouse. It was locked, not because someone was using it, but because they take the key out of the door before people go to sleep. I had no idea what to do, so I sucked it up and peed in the grass. I felt a drop of rain on my face and went inside, tucked everything back in and awoke at 6:30 to my alarm.

Wednesday

Frieda wakes up very early, and isn’t the best roommate when it comes to that. She bangs pots around and plays music. I was awake earlier than 6:30, but I tried to get sleep in while I could. I got up and grabbed my towel, shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Frieda gave me a bucket (and a smaller bucket for pouring) and I went to the shower. It was then that I wished I brought two pairs of sandals with me, because I hate exposing my Birkenstocks to any amount of water. I take off my Birkenstocks and begin taking the third bucket shower of my life. I had a smaller bucket this time, perhaps three gallons. By this time I’d like to say that I’m pretty great with bucket showers. I know how much water each item requires. Shampoo is pretty easy to wash out, soap lingers for a while, and conditioner is usually the water waster. I almost wish I didn’t need conditioner, but if I don’t use it my hair becomes so frizzy and brittle that I’m afraid I’ll lose it all. I had water to spare by the end of my shower so I just poured it over myself, remembering what being cool feels like.

I put on a long dress and sunblock, and Frieda has breakfast ready for me. She scrambled an egg and sautéed it with spaghetti. It is served in bread, usually in a pita pocket style. It was pretty good, probably one of my favorite Ghanaian dishes. She also made me her favorite hot chocolate, which tasted like watery Swiss Miss. If she only knew of my barista skills. Sebastian and Ernesto came to the house on a motorbike and asked if we were ready to leave. I was about to get my first look at Care Net’s inner workings. We were going to a nearby community. They go to communities around to promote female empowerment. In a lot of communities, especially traditional ones, the chief has the final say and the female opinion is overlooked. Care Net goes to places and presents to only women, stating that if the man in the house has an opinion that the wife can state it there. The group of women would choose officers in the community, and Care Net will assist with training in group dynamics, human rights, and leadership. The purpose of this formation is to give the women in the community a say in what happens, and I think it’s an awesome push towards some form of slight equality. Women are oftentimes the most knowledgeable about the problems in their communities, so it makes sense to talk to them directly.

We went to the community called Agbedrafor. The car wasn’t available to travel, so we had to take turns with the motorbike to get there. It was my first time on a motorbike, and it was a bumpy ride. It was a great time, the wind was so perfect. I was told to be careful on the right side because that is where the exhaust pipe is. They showed me their scars from being burned by pipes in the past. Motorbikes are the only practical mode of transportation in remote towns like Akatsi; they are the only vehicle that can successfully navigate the side roads in the villages without breaking down. When I arrived, Ernetso was already there and Sebastian left again to pick up Frieda. I walk towards him and take a seat, noticing that around 50 women from the village came to the program. I was no help at all, mostly because I can’t speak any Ghanaian dialect. People in the Volta region speak mostly Ewe (ay-way), which sounds absolutely nothing like English. I smiled and laughed when everyone else did, and clapped along with the crowd. I did not follow the conversation at all. I was filled in during the presentation that the women were all for the empowerment and decided to elect officers then and there. It was pretty cool to watch. I was told that the women were emphasizing to each other that this committee should accept the view of everyone and put no one down. It reminded me of RA training, oddly enough. With a successful event, Care Net organized a time to come back to conduct the training of the entire group. We left shortly after. I was dropped off at where I was staying. Frieda and I went into town and bought some rice from a vendor. We went back to the house and Frieda cooked it. I went outside, where it was a little cooler, and read some more of my book. I was still full from breakfast, so I asked for a little bit of food. She gave me an entire bowl of rice with pepe, and I ended up not being able to finish. My stomach has shrunk pretty significantly since being here. I didn’t anticipate eating again for the rest of the day.

I was exhausted. The night of restlessness combined with the already-busy day made me lethargic. I thought about napping but before I could, Sebastian and Ernesto came over. I felt rude napping while people were over, so I stayed out. They were working on designing a poster for the various communities with TBAs (Traditional Birthing Attendants). Considering that most of the communities have a population that is illiterate, they were trying to think of a poster that was mostly pictorial. None of us are artists, and they were coming up with pretty detailed descriptions of these situations. I suggested that photographs were used instead of crude drawings, I thought that they would give a clearer description of what was going on. So, if that happens, I might end up being a model for the poster in which I would play a pregnant mother. Watch out for those pictures, kids. They should be good.

At around 4:00pm, we left. We were going to meet up with American medical students that are working with Care Net at the Akatsi hospital. We walked because they wanted to show me the other side of town. We started walked. I have no idea how long we walked but before I knew it, we were in another town. We stopped by a yellow building that was being renovated and I was told that it was the future office for Care Net in Akatsi. We walked further down the road and turned at a sign that read “Volta Paradise Hotel.” This is where the students were staying. They came down the road and we met. There were around twelve to fifteen of us walking at that point, much like that big herd of cows I saw on my way to Akatsi. The group walking pace was unbearably slow; I kept walking too far ahead and having to stop. We walked very far, so far I don’t even know how to quantify it (I’ll check Google Maps and see if I can map out a route). We walked to the local school because the group wanted to play soccer, but one of the students said that he wanted to get an internet modem. We walked farther down into town to an MTN store (a huge cell phone carrier here) and he got a modem for 49cedis. We turned around and walked back to the field, which was entirely full. A child took us to another field behind the school, so we walked even further. By the time we got to the field, it was around 6:30pm. We had been walking for 2.5 hours at this point in the Ghanaian heat. I was pretty tired, as was everyone. I sat down next to Frieda and some other students that decided to not play, and we watched the rest of the group play against some school children (who were surprisingly good).

Gnats started coming out and we left soon after. The sun was setting, Frieda and I branched off from the group to go back to the house. We got back at around 7:00pm. She made me some more of that hot chocolate and said that she was going to leave for a little bit to get some porridge. I took out my contacts, changed into my pajamas, and read. I was so tired. I looked down at my feet and noticed that they were quite dirty.

I washed them outside quickly and went back to reading. I was extremely tired at this time and thought that going to sleep around 8:00pm wasn’t shameful. Right? I stayed up long enough for Frieda to return and I let her explore my laptop for a while. I was falling asleep and once she closed the computer I knew it was time to go to sleep. The time was around 9:00pm. I went to the bathroom before sleeping as a precaution, not wanting to repeat the previous night’s event. I pulled my mosquito net over my bed and tried to fall asleep. I did so rather quickly but woke up soon after to begin the now-routine tossing and turning.  I had to pee again. This couldn’t be real. I listened outside and heard pounding rain. I’ve never heard rain like this, I thought that water was going to start flooding the house. I couldn’t leave to go outside now, it sounded too frightening to leave the comfort of my mosquito net. I looked around and noticed that the net became untucked at the end by my foot and I cursed the stars. I retucked it in and hoped that all of this bad luck with mosquitoes wouldn’t turn into malaria. It would just be my luck.

I tried to go back to sleep but the storm was very loud. Another night of restlessness, it appeared. This time it wasn’t the heat (the rain had cooled everything to a reasonable temperature), but rather my screaming bladder and the imminent threat of the outdoors.

Can't Get Over These Chickens

As promised, here is the video I was too impatient to upload earlier. Sorry it's sideways, I'm still getting used to my new phone. Pay attention to how loud it is, the tin roof really made it sound like the end of the world was happening.

Last night, we had a pretty decent storm. It rained sporadically through the night and cooled everything down. I couldn't fall asleep and I think it's because it cooled down enough that I became energized. Heat and humidity makes a person lethargic, and once I felt that it was cool enough to not live like a slug, it was hard to lay down. I woke up pretty late this morning and I took another shower. The water was a little cooler this time, mostly because the temperature outside was also cooler.

Afterwards, I tried setting up my phone with a Ghanaian number. I got a SIM card yesterday. I put the card in the phone, but didn't get any cell phone signal. I thought that was abnormal, and asked around. I took a gander at the actual chip on each SIM card, only to discover that American chips are a little smaller than Ghanaian ones. Conclusion: no Ghanaian SIM will work with my phone because of that small size difference. Wonderful.

As my hair began to dry, I felt it curling. I brushed it out to discourage the jungle hair, but it protested. Freshly washed hair in humidity tends to do what it will, and I think I'm learning that the hard way.

Jumanji? Also, like my use of Instagram?

I had a nice chat with an AIESEC e-board member for a while. I told him about my experiences as an RA (which is a book in the writing) and I'm not sure he believed most of what I said, but I have a few people to back me on the stories (right?). I also told him about this blog and how I used it to show people the food I make. That delved into an entire food-based conversation, in which I tried to describe the foods I've made.

What a challenge. I learned quickly how different America and Ghana are, culinarily speaking (is that a word?). I showed him a few pictures of my food and tried to describe it. How do you describe what cheesecake is to someone who doesn't know what it is? Or cream cheese for that matter? How do you even begin to describe what cheesecake is without the slightest knowledge of its foundation? I tried by saying that it's what you spread on a bagel, but that left me with a blank stare. This man has never had a bagel.

I was floored. A life without cream cheese.

I pressed further and became more shocked. No lasagna dinners. No idea what the most perfect combination of cinnamon-sugar tastes like. Hasn't the clue what Hot Tomato Oil tastes like (but a lot of people don't, so I'll let that slide).  He's never heard the word brownie. For the love of ZEUS what is a life without brownies?

Great. This is going to be the only thing on my mind for the rest of my stay.
[askmissa.com]

Could this be my first taste (no pun intended) of culture shock? I have this unignorable desire to cook everything I can for these guys. Ghanaian food is great, but as he said it perfectly, there isn't much variety Starch with something spicy. Mix and match from there.

With all that talk of food, I became extremely hungry.  We went in search of food, but unfortunately for us it is Sunday. Ghana is pretty religious, and has multiple masses on Sundays. Subsequently, everything is pretty much closed all day. We found a place that was open. I was highly recommended to get Waakye (waa-chay), which is a traditional Ghanaian dish that consists of rice and beans cooked together.

Most of the dish was exactly that, black beans and rice cooked together until they were pretty homogeneous (I'd say 80% homogeneous). I wasn't expecting the toppings. She scooped the rice in the container and added (1) gari - a dried part of the cassava tuber, orange in appearance, and gritty in texture, (2) noodles - i thought is was spaghetti, (3) a chicken leg - always welcome, and (4) that hot sauce that I discovered on the fried rice two days earlier. It turns out that the sauce is a mix of the two pepes I had yesterday, it's extremely spicy. I wiped a lot off before I ate to avoid the same mistake.

This is the most accurate picture I could find.
[flickr]

I ate enough to fill me, but it looked like I didn't eat anything. I wasn't putting a dent in this food. On the walk back from the place, I saw a ton of chickens. I couldn't get over it. They were just running around, bawking and clucking to their hearts content. I was so fascinated that the guy I was with started laughing hard. How could I not be fascinated, there were five chickens running around together! WHAT? They're so regular in Ghana, I'm just going to go ahead and assume that the chicken here is our squirrel equivalent. Most likely the only comparison the two animals will ever receive.

Pillows, TED, Rain, & The Colonel

Just when you think I can't write anymore, here I am again. BAM.

How was your day? I would love to know. I'll tell you about mine.

I woke up in a sweaty pool, per usual, with people walking around.

"No lights" is all I hear, and for some reason it didn't register in my head that we were experiencing another power outage until I couldn't connect to the internet.  The first thing I do is take a long hard look at my hair, which has definitely become as wild as my nightmares predicted.  I get ready, put my mane into a bun, pop in my contacts, take my malaria meds, the whole nine. Considering that the power was out, I opened up Life of Pi and finished it within the hour. For those who have read the book, please talk to me privately about your thoughts. I think that book is something I'll need to read a few times to fully understand, but it was incredible.

A few people from AIESEC went out to grab some food and they brought it back to the house. The carried a plastic bag full of a bunch of round, steaming objects. Ghanaian food at last. Last night I had my first taste of it. There's a place that sells food for cheap and a few of us went to grab some. I got fried rice with a piece of chicken. First of all, for less than $2 in America I'd venture to say that you'd be able to get about a cup of rice. I got at least a pound of it, it so delicious. There was cabbage, almost tasted like coleslaw. It cooled the rice down. I wish I knew that before I mixed in the mysterious red paste next to the piece of chicken. I've had some pretty spicy food, but damn. It must have been a chili paste, because yo it amped the rice up to a whole new level. I was sweating bullets, searching for the cabbage for solace. I tried drinking water, but the fact that (1) it was room temperature, and (2) it was water, only worsened the fire in my mouth. I powered through it, finishing everything. Next time, I'll know better.

They grabbed two big dishes, and put a few of the balls on one dish, and filled the other with two sauces. Both sauces were called Pepe, one was dark and smooth while the other was red and had chili seeds and onions in it. The balls were called Kenkey (ken-KAY). It’s made out of corn and is smashed until it forms a dough. From there it’s steamed in a corn husk, or so I believe.

They threw a few sardines in there as well.
[mywaku.com]

Everyone sat around the dishes and dug in. African food is notoriously hands-on, it’s pretty cool. I grabbed some of the open kenkey (which was so hot I thought I melted my fingertips), screamed just a little bit, and tried it. It’s hard to describe, but it’s very plain and almost gritty. It’s cornmeal, in essence. There’s nothing fancy about kenkey, or any Ghanaian food from what I’m seeing. In the other dish were the two different kinds of pepe, and canned corned beef. I stuck with the red pepe, avoiding beef as much as possible and slightly afraid of the dark pepe after the fried rice I had the night before. The pepe definitely improved the flavor, and I found that the more I ate, the better it tasted. It is something I could eat on the regular; I think the texture would definitely expedite how much I would be able to eat.

After I was sufficiently full, I grabbed my copy of The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and began to read. The power was still out at this point (it has been around 4 or 5 hours) and I thought to myself: if this happens as frequently as it has been, I’m going to run out of books by next week. And my dad told me that bringing seven books was silly. Silly him.

I went to the Accra Mall with a member of AIESEC to get me a Ghanaian phone number. On the way, people were walking along the highways, between the lanes during heavy traffic, trying to sell anything. I saw belts, dog leashes, sunglasses, clocks, maps, peanuts, you name it. The roads in Accra aren’t very well maintained and the cars are all very old. Ours kept stalling and having to be restarted, but you’d never know because the traffic moves slowly. Lane changes happen at the blink of an eye and my version of tailgating would leave too much room in the road. Cars were literally bumper to bumper with maybe an inch to spare on each side.

The SIM card was cut to match my phone. This is convenient because I already have a phone to put it in. This in inconvenient because now I’m going to have to keep switching out between my American and Ghanaian SIM cards. Alas. At the mall, I also took the liberty of buying a pillow, considering I’ve been using my neck pillow for sleeping since I’ve arrived. My neck hurts a little bit.

We left the mall and walked around town to a tro-tro stop. A tro-tro is almost like a big taxi, but it fits around 20 or so people. They’re pretty crowded but it’s a cheap way to get around. A person working in a tro-tro will stand outside the van, usually a 15 passenger van or something bigger, and yell where they’re going. There was no schedule, no numbers on the tro-tro, nothing. I would have been lost without my AIESEC peeps for sure. I hope I get the hang of tro-tros soon enough.

We got off the tro-tro and hopped in a taxi to take us to the place we were going to. We walked around, trying to find Passions Restaurant and Café. I was told that we were meeting an intern from Austria that went abroad through AIESEC there to watch a presentation. I didn’t know it was a TEDx talk. TEDx talks are community organized TED talks. This one was about feminism in Africa, and the current social situation. There were four speakers and one singer, all powerful on their own. They conveyed an incredible collective message, stating that education is more crucial than can be imagined in the developing nation of Ghana and that woman deserve to be respected and held to equal standards as men.

During the talk, it started raining. I’m not talking about a light rain; it down poured. The restaurant had a tin roof, amplifying the rain to a level so loud that they had to stop the talk. Rain was splashing into the restaurant, and my back became wet. The floor was soaked, even five feet away from the door.

I took a video of the rain but it's taking way too long to upload. I'll post it when I write my next entry.

After the talk and post-talk discussion, we left in search of food and a way to get back to the AIESEC house. We walked for a little while until we hit a main road in Accra. A man asked me to buy him a loaf of bread. Children were running around. The roads weren’t lit very well, and no street has a name. We end up eating at KFC of all places. This was different, though. We walk in and the cold blast of air conditioning hits me for the first time since I’ve been here. What a welcome relief. I look around, and see that this is no ordinary KFC. The entire menu, save the obvious star of fried chicken, was different. Sides were French fries (not potato wedges) or fried rice. The specialty chicken dish was not a grilled bucket, but Spicy Chili Lime Wings. And above all, this KFC was a three-story behemoth of a fast food joint, complete with plasma screen televisions and chandeliers. I was taken aback. No biscuits? No mashed potatoes? No boneless buckets or grilled chicken? Actual effort in the dining room? What was this? Gary, I don’t think we’re in Liverpool anymore…