A Good Ghana Day

Today was just a wonderful day. My heart is full. It has been all day. I am happy. I want to bring my family to Ghana. Mommie, Cameron, Julian and I will have to come spend a summer here. Nothing more to say. Today is too magical to waste it away in an internet cafe. Later!

Also, shout out to Helen's mom! Thanks for finding and following my blog! Helen has a funny story to tell you about her attempt to get her hair braided in Ghana. Long story short, it resulted in a piece of purple hair being glued in your child's hair. I would love to show you the pic but my camera is broken.

Menstruating in a Developing Country

I have been on the lookout for my period for over a week now. I expected her to make her monthly visit about a week ago, but I think residing in a room with six other women caused her to lose her way. I have started drinking a lot more water to combat the constipation I was experiencing earlier this week, so this morning at the school I desperately had to pee. I pulled a piece of tissue from my purse and walked to the back of the school to "go" on the rock pile that is designated for the teachers (the area for the students does not have rocks, they piss on the dirt). I was especially dreading having to go because I wore jeans and pissing outdoors in pants is a lot harder than hiking up a dress. After a few drips, I aimed my stream of pee in the middle of two rocks (this reduces splattering on your legs) and I felt pretty good that this was going to be a quick and successful "restroom" visit. I whipped out my little piece of tissue, used it, looked down to discover that my period started. There I was, squatting, over a pile of rocks, with insufficient tissue. No toilet. No toilet paper. No trash can. No purse. I was screwed. I pulled up my pants and left the teachers "bathroom". I was disgusted. I walked over to purse and searched for the necessary equipment. Of course, it was not in my bag. I proceeded to ask every woman of menstruating age for a pad/tampon. After 7 attempts, I was successful in finding a tampon. Quick Advice: If you are a tampon user, bring a full supply of tampons with you to Ghana. They don't really sell them here. I headed back to the rock pile. I was disturbed and highly irritated with the situation. I finished my business and still had my "trash" in hand. I had to walk halfway across the school, to the one trash can, to dispose of my garbage. Imagine my discomfort at this point. This was not okay.

So here I am, in the internet cafe with slight cramps. I am hot. I am now resenting that I don't have air conditioning. The fan will not "get it" tonight. I am internally hot. Bucket baths just don't seem sufficient today. I will see how I feel about that later tonight. There are not enough clean/safe toilets in Ghana for me to look forward to the next four to five long, very long, days. I wonder how they local women deal with this EVERY MONTH! Fuck.

Quiet

I love being away from home. I rarely get homesick, and if I do, it doesn't last very long. I just like being abroad. I enjoy the quiet of it all. I have a lot of time with my own thoughts and without the hustle and bustle of Atlanta. I read a lot more books when I am away. I take more time to just sit around and talk about nothing. Sometimes I just join the locals and sit in silence. Very cool. I walk a lot more in Africa. When I am in the states I walk fast. Here, I stroll. Cool. I am no longer tempted with an abundance of packaged foods and McDonald's on every corner. The fastest food I can get it a slice of watermelon, friend plantains, grilled kabobs or fresh baked bread from the street vendors. I wake up with the sun. I usually can't sleep later than 6 a.m. as the rooster insists that I get up. I really like it in Ghana. I wouldn't return except, I miss my friends and family a lot...that's the only reason I plan on coming back...Unless of course, they would be open to coming here...

Also, I need to start making plans for next summers travel abroad. I am thinking Asia? Any suggestions?

Relationships

Bad news. My camera is broken. I am not sure why it won't work, but the lens won't extract and it keeps saying "lens error" when I attempt to turn it on. That means that this blog is very unlikely to include anymore cool pictures. Just know that Ghana and I are still well and beautiful, even though you can't see us on this blog anymore. *tear*. I have formed many new friendships/relationships with the local people. I will first start with the two market ladies that I always buy from. Unfortunately, I don't know either of their names (I will correct this soon). The first is a young lady who always lights up when she sees me. She teaches me a few words in Fante while she fills my bags with veggies. She never seems to have the correct change for what I purchased, so I am usually forced to buy more than I planned to reach the full amount. She is a smart market lady. The other market lady is a bit older. After I leave the young woman's stand I go to her stand and practice the Fante I just learned. She is always impressed with my attempt to learn the language. She then proceeds to correct my pronunciation. Each day I only request a few fruits and veggies but she always fills my bag with much more than what I asked for. Of course, I pay her more than her quoted price. She always acts surprised. She is a very smart market lady. I have also started helping braid hair at the local salon. I really like it. The shop owner is a young woman named Adiza. Her clients are always surprised that I know how to do hair. Adiza's English is limited but her clients usually speak English very well. Often, the clients speak English while I am in the shop to include me in the local gossip. I love it. Yesterday, a lady came to the shop having to get her hair done urgently because her "husband would beat her if she did not get home quickly". Another lady said that she always says that and she just wanted to skip the line. Everyone laughed. Then Adiza and I moved from the other client to her...just in case her husband really was going to beat her. I love the small ways that women look out for each other. At the end of the day, we are our real protectors. Then of course, there is Christina and Gabriel. I eat at their house for dinner about 4 or 5 nights out of the week. Christina seriously thinks I am somehow obligated to eat at their house because we are friends. I have been trying to make her understand that I have to go home and eat with my group but she just let's me know she expects me for dinner as she walks away. I shout to her back, "Seriously, Christina I am not coming today!" and she shouts back "Then I guess you are not my friend". Guilt. It is a an overused social weapon in Ghana. Then there is Ricky. The owns the Kakumado Guest house. He spent a few years in Germany and married a German woman. He speaks fluent German and English and considers himself different from the locals since he lived among Europeans for many years. I stop by Ricky's place at least a few times a week. I go to say hello and to use the clean bathroom. Today I met Ricky's girlfriend. She is a lovely woman who lives in Kumasi and comes to see Ricky on the weekends. They plan to marry soon. I had pinned Ricky as a lonely old man until I met his woman this weekend. She makes him happy. I can tell. Ricky also has a "maid" (their words not mine) named Mary. Mary is amazing. When I stop by she and I just talk the way young lady's talk when they haven't seen each other in a few days. Mary is always badgering me about getting married and having children. It's a bit ironic because she has two children and is divorced (very uncommon for a young woman in Ghana) but she can't stop talking about the joys of marriage. Whenever I am leaving Mary she touches my stomach and says some nonsense about blessing me with a billion babies or something. I yell at her and tell her to stop putting her voodoo witchcraft on me. We laugh. The Rasta's are a treat as well. I especially like eating at Kenya's co-op restaurant. He gives everyone a huge plate of delicious food for 1 Cedi. I always like to pay him a bit extra...just because I can. I like eating with the locals. We sit around. A bunch of hungry young people trying to satisfy a basic need and save a buck at the same time. It is nice. The family that we live with are very nice as well. I have gotten to know the children very well. Gabrielle is an especially well-behaved and helpful young man. I taught his class at the school. I always tell him that I will marry him when he grows up. He responds with a defiant "NO!" and then laughs. I ask him why he doesn't want to marry me. He says "NO!" and runs away. I want to do something nice for Gabrielle before I leave. He is a good kid. He deserves it.

Tubthumping

This weekend is our last weekend in Kakumado. We decided to go out and celebrate our last weekend and a group members birthday. It was an awesome night. The night began with a nice dinner at the restaurant beside the Cape Coast Castle. We then moved on the "Oasis beach resort". It was rather slow because they had a local African group performing and the performance lasted too long. So we decided to go the the "Elmina Beach Resort". Beside the beach resort was a little hole in the wall club that we decided to stop by first. We ended up spending the majority of the night in that small club. It was awesome. They played the same five songs all night and we danced to them as if they were new every time. The hit song of the night was "Waist and Power". It was played over 20 times and each time the dance floor filled and everyone, Black, White, Yellow and Red, jumped around and threw up their beers and yelled, "I need an African Man!". It was hilarious. Perhaps that is the sign of a true hit record? I drank 3 "Club" beers. Club is the local beer. It is nice. The only problem was that the beers were served luke warm so after dancing for a few songs the beer became hot and nasty and I had to buy another one. Perhaps that was intentionally done by the club owners? The club did not have any bathrooms so everyone walked around the building and peed outside. Halfway into the night I finally got the confidence to join the locals in public urination. The beers lessened my anxiety and filled my bladder enough for me to finally get the guts to go outside. I hiked up my dress, made sure my feet were far apart, squatted in horse stance, looked over my right shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, looked over my left shoulder to ensure no one was around, gave myself a short pep talk, and then, I, Adrianne Pinkney the great, pissed outside. I went a total of 4 times before the night was over. By the end of the night I was public urination pro. We exhausted our fun at the hole in the wall and decided to make our way over to the "Elmina Beach Resort". Upon walking in the hotel, we were informed that we would not be allowed in the club because all of the girls had on flip-flops. We were joined by a lot of other Westerners who would not be admitted and allowed to spend our ready-to-blow-Cedi's in the club. We made a big scene and were really obnoxious about being denied entry. The bouncer eventually walked away from us. I asked a local girl if I could buy her shoes. She looked at me in disgust. But, hey, you never know until you ask? On our way out, Gabrielle accidentally dropped his entire bottle of beer smack dab in the middle of the lobby. A bit buzzed, All of us decided to run from the scene of the crime. The hotel security chased us and told us to come and clean up after ourselves. Christina turned back to pick up the bottle. I grabbed her hand and dragged her away. We were all laughing really hard. I didn't want to finish my last hot beer so I threw the bottle on the side of the Resort wall. We laughed even harder. My sides hurt. Being a renegade is awesome. We returned to the hole in the wall club and to our surprise a lady had set up an omelet selling stand. We bought omelets from the lady. That omelet was the best late-night-side-of-the-road-greasy-alcohol-absorbing-sobering-up food I have eaten in my life. While sitting on the side of the road I started to worry about getting malaria from the late night mosquitos. Then, a big police truck pulled up to the omelet stand and 3 scary looking police get out with machine guns. A scared/drunk White guy gets out with them. They buy him a bottle of water. The guy is not handcuffed. He drinks it. He gets back into the car. They drive off. It was very sketchy. Very scary. I then thought; being a renegade is stupid. I will save all my future lawless activity when I am in the fair, flawed, developing, unfair, sexist, racist, classist, justice system in America. I trust it much more than the one here in Ghana. I asked Chris and Gabrielle what they thought happened to the White guy with the police. They both shrugged their shoulders in disinterest. They said the police pick up drunk, high, White people all the time and scare them into paying really high bribes so they will not go to jail. They got that kid water so he could sober up enough to give them whatever money the wanted before they dropped him off at home. Based on what I saw, it seemed they were telling the truth. That guy had been at the hole in the wall with us just a few hours before I saw him in the car...We decided it was a good time to go home. All the White people had left, so it took us forever to catch a cab. They don't stop as much if you are not a Bruni. I was starting to get worried about the mosquitoes. Gabrielle finally stopped a cab, but it was going to charge us an exorbitant late night fare and Gabrielle let it pass us by. That happened about 4 times before somebody got the bright idea that we might actually just have to pay a lot to get home. 7 Cedi's later, we were all dropped off safe and sound. I went to sleep with a big smile on my face. It was a great night. This morning I woke up and made myself a big sloppy omelet...I just wanted to ensure that it would be another great day in Ghana.

Domestic Violence

Today Christina decided to have her hair braided like mine. I took her to the salon where I had my hair done. I knew it was going to take several hours to complete it, so I decided to help. Imagine the shock of the Africans when they discovered that I, with my "White" self, could braid hair. It was an ordinary Ghanian day and we were taking it all in. The goats lazily ate grass. The chickens kept coming into the salon. The villagers stopped by and talked to us for awhile. The day was totally typical. All of a sudden a little boy, around the age of 5 or 6, comes crying and screaming down the road. His voice was filled with terror. Everyone stopped and looked to see what, or who, was chasing the child. A woman, with a child attached to her back comes walking quickly behind the boy. She was enraged. She quickly grabbed the boy, who I later learned was her son, and begins beating him in his face. Repeatedly she slaps and punches the boy as he screams in pain and humiliation. Everyone is watching in shock. Finally the shop owner, lowers Christina's braid and runs over to the woman. She rips the boy from his mothers arms. The mother continues to chase after her and the boy, hitting him over and over again. Christina tells the boy to come into the hair salon. He comes into the salon and sits beside me trembling and sobbing. He seemed so small. So defenseless. He could not fight back. She was bigger. She was livid. She was his mother. His shirt and pants were torn. He had no shoes. He was clearly one of the many children in Ghana who do not attend school. The mother stood at the edge of the road yelling into the shop. Accusing the boy, "He has eaten all of my provisions. We will go hungry." (Christina later translated this for me). Then, it just ended. The boy stopped crying. He got up, on his own accord, and followed his mother home. Everyone returned to their homes. It was over. I wanted to cry. I could not believed I had just witnessed such violence. I could not believe I had just witness such violence toward a child. I could not believe I had just witnessed such violence toward a child by his own mother. What could that child do? Who could protect him? How many times had his mother hit him in his home and he could not run outside to seek refuge from the villagers? Why is it that we have this disgusting and warped idea that parents can be violent toward their children in order to teach them? or correct them? or, dare I say, love them? When I am speaking of violence toward children, I mean every "spanking", slap, "whopping", thrown book, push, shove that any child receives from any adult. It is wrong. This child's beating was no different than the "spanking" with a belt, spoon, switch, hand, electric cord that children get in America. This boys screams sounded just like theirs. This boys tears were the same. This boys desire for safety from such violence was the same. Something has to be done. If this boy had been an adult woman people would have been outraged. People would say, "No man who hits you loves you." Can we say the same to children? "No man/woman who hits you loves you". It seems a little disturbing to think of it that way...because for many of us that would mean reflecting on our own childhoods. Our very own parents would come into question. We would reply images of our 5, 6, 7, 8 year old selves being abused in the name of love. Perhaps some would question the way they interact with there own children. They might have many different reactions. Defense: "The bible says, spare the rod, spoil the child". Denial: "I spank my children but it is not abuse." Displacement of blame: "I was spanked, and I don't think there is any other way." Or maybe, just maybe, someone will join me in breaking the cycle of child abuse by choosing to interact with their own children in non-violent ways.

Ghana is Home

I know I have not been blogging as much as I once was. It is coming from the simple fact that nothing about Ghana is that fascinating anymore. I have been here long enough for Ghana to have become like home. Each morning the roosters wake me at about 5:30 a.m. I stretch. I lay there until 6:00 a.m. I get up, strap on my dirty, well-worn, tennis shoes and take a 2 mile jog around Kakumado. The locals wave at me. I say good morning in Fante. They laugh. They like me a little bit for trying. I come home and eat breakfast. One of two options. Oatmeal. Eggs and Toast. I then take a quick bucket bath. Cold water. I am well awake. I go to the kitchen and make my lunch. Steamed veggies. I get dressed and head to whatever school I am going to teach history in. This week I have been teaching in a high school. I say something unlike what their teachers say. They learn. They laugh. The students like me. I like them. A lot. I eat my packed lunch. School ends. I go to town and buy a few things. Fruits. Veggies. For lunch tomorrow. I buy some grilled beef of the street. It is good. Too salty. The market ladies teach me Fante. I repeat what they say. They laugh. It is hot. I take a cab. The cab driver trys to over charge me. I yell "BULLSHIT!" at his price. He laughs. He charges me like the locals. We are friends. I get in the cab. I get home. Read. Alice Walker "In search of our mothers gardens". Gabrielle and Christina call. They have made FuFu and I am invited. I eat at their house. I have fun. I leave late. Very late. I walk home. I am scared. I run home. I take a bucket bath. Warm water. I love it. I hold a group meeting. I brush my teeth with bottled water. I go to bed. I do it all again the next day. I am happy. I am loving it. Next time, you should come with me...

The long blog I just wrote...

JUST SOMEHOW DISAPPEARED AND I CAN'T GET IT BACK AND I AM F-ING PISSED ABOUT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHHH! I AM REALLY MAD. LEAVING THE EVIL INTERNET CAFE. WILL TRY AGAIN TOMORROW WHEN I HAVE CALMED DOWN

"The Girl Who Cried Malaria" Goes to Church

Kenya Cooks for the Rasta Community. My favorite Rasta eating spot in Ghana

Me outside of the Emergency room with Julie. Waiting to be treated for my malaria

My hospital check in papers. I had to pay 12 cedi for this book

Friday morning was my first morning skipping my morning run. I woke up extremely achy and lethargic. I went and cleaned the beach and came home exhausted. Too exhausted. I took a nap and woke up burning with fever. Aches, plus fever, plus the last week of diarrhea could only equal one thing; MALARIA. My greatest fear throughout this journey had been realized; I had malaria. I spent the later part of the night asking all of the locals about their malaria stories and how they knew if they had the disease. All of them had malaria several times; it is like a common cold in sub-Saharan Africa. Some said they vomited a lot, lost their appetites or had muscle aches. All also added, "I don't think you have malaria. You would KNOW if you had malaria." They were right, I knew I had malaria. Of the three mosquito bites I had received one of them was the Anopheles mosquito that had bitten a malaria ridden person and then came and sucked on my precious malaria free blood and infected me with the deadly disease. Saturday morning I woke up as early as my achy body would allow and headed to the Central Regional Hospital with Julie, the only group member willing to take the journey to the Ghanian Emergency room (plus, I don't think the others believed I had malaria). When we arrived I was impressed by the structure of the hospital. It is very big and well built. Walking inside, I was greeted by the receptionist and then instructed to wait in line to check in. I looked around at the people around me. No one seemed to be that sick. Well, a few people did. But most seemed like they were waiting on others. When it was my turn to check in, the man asked, "Where is the sick one?" I responded "I am the one who is sick. I have malaria". He gave me a perplexed look and asked for my information and proceeded to fill out all of my paper work for me. I couldn't help to think how inefficient this process was. I was about to ask to fill out the papers myself, but then I thought this might be a courtesy to the illiterate population or a method of ensuring that the paper work was filled out properly. I waited while he copied the information from my ID to the form. He told me it would be awhile, so Julie and I decided to wait outside. It seemed like the best idea instead of staying in a room with a bunch of sick people. We waited outside and talked about life, men, Africa, other group members, funny stories; just trying to pass the time...then, a taxi came flying around the corner. Four women piled out of the taxi. One went in and got a wheelchair and brought it to the car. The four women then worked together to pull a limp young woman out of the car. Her feet and legs where covered in blood and it was obvious she was bleeding from between her legs. Eventually they got her into the wheelchair and rolled her inside. The taxi driver started cleaning the blood out of the backseat of his car. Then he drove off. Again, all was quiet outside the emergency room. All, except for my mind. What was wrong with that girl? Why had she waited so long to come to the hospital? Why had others waited so long to bring her to the hospital? I can't believe she had to take a taxi here! That young woman was the first of many that I saw entering the hospital while I waited to be treated for my malaria. Another young woman arrived in a taxi. She was gurgling and incoherent. She couldn't even sit up to be place in a wheelchair. A half naked old man was pulled from a car unable to stop moaning. An ambulance dropped of another woman who kept screaming. The question kept resounding in my mind...WHY DIDN'T THESE PEOPLE COME TO THE HOSPITAL SOONER? WHY HAD THEY WAITED SO LONG? But I already knew the real reason all of these patients were near death as they entered the hospital; they couldn't afford to come sooner. If there is one thing that I am reaffirmed in from waiting outside of that emergency room in Kakumado, Ghana it is this: HEALTH CARE IS A HUMAN RIGHT. These people in Africa are no different from the people in America who don't have health insurance. We should all have access to medical treatment simply because we are human. That is all that is to it. Dramatic silent pause. This is the time for you to reflect on your thoughts on universal health care and then take on my opinions. If this did not convince you. Please come to Ghana and sit outside the emergency room.

Anyway, after 4 hours I was called to see the doctor. When I walked in he asked "Where is the person who is sick?" Again, I whispered "I am the one who is sick." because I dared not offend the near death people surrounding me. I felt like an idiot because now I understood why people kept asking me that question. He asked for my symptoms and wrote then down in a book. He kept being interrupted by nurses who had no idea what they were doing. The doctor needed someone to give a child who had fractured her arm a splint. He could not find anyone who knew how to do it. I then understood why I waited so long. He was the only person in this entire hospital who knew what they were doing. I felt sorry for him, and admired him at the same time. He sent me to get have my blood taken and told me to come back after it was done. 30 minutes later the results were in. I, Adrianne Rochelle Pinkney, did NOT have malaria...

So, I left and went to town to have lunch with the Rastafarians.

Sunday morning I woke up early because I finally decided to fulfill my previous commitment to attend church. The Catholic service started at 10:00. The priest in the alter boys marched in followed by the choir who wore graduation caps and gowns. I asked the person beside me, "Are they honoring the graduates today?" He replied, "No, those are the choir uniforms. The women have to cover their hair". I giggled and wondered where these donated from another country. They probably were. I was tickled the entire time the choir marched in. Their tassels swinging beside them. The whole thing was silly. Ernesto taught me a very effective way to deliver bad news or critical information. It is called "A shit sandwich". First you say something good and then you say the terrible thing you really want to say and then you finish with something else positive. I am going to retell my experience at church using this method.

First piece of toast: The music at the church was amazing! I love hearing people sing songs of worship. It doesn't matter if they are Christians, Buddhist, Muslims, Hindus, or practicing indigenous faiths. Whenever people are singing to God it is euphoric. I could feel God in the room when the choir and the church sang. It was beautiful. It was even more lovely because no one, and I mean no one, sings, dances, or praises like people of color(more specifically, Black people). Those who have struggled and overcome have so much more conviction to their song. It's breathtaking.

The shit: I hated watching all of these poor, struggling people give their last in a church offering. It seemed silly. I don't think that is what Jesus wanted. For the poor to give their last to maintain a building or his teachings. In this church they give an additional offering of food, bottled water, clothes to the priest and his family. It was sickening. Women with baskets of bananas and cassava dropping their food at the feet of a man who was not God. Then I kept seeing all of these images of White Jesus around the church. That broke my heart. All these beautiful Black people worshiping the God of their oppressors. Blond-hair-blue-eyed Jesus was hanging on his execution cross at the front of the church, seemingly watching over the services and the people. To those who don't know me well, please understand I am a big supporter of Jesus's teachings and I believe he was an extraordinary person. I do not question his existence. He surely walked the earth and positively affected the lives of many people through his life. He continues to effect the world today. Still, I would like to see more people really understanding who Jesus was and what he was about. I do not think that most of today's Christians, or followers of Christ, really understand what it means to be Christ-like. I felt as if I were in a room of disillusioned people. I could tell they wanted something good...something great; but where being manipulated in mass and were therefore unable to find their way out. Religion. It can be dangerous when no one is questioning. Attending church is getting harder and harder for me as a grow spiritually.

Second Piece of Toast: I am glad to know that people still act upon the desire to know God. It is beautiful to see people give freely. It is nice to see people humble themselves. It is refreshing that people can acknowledge power, or forces, greater than themselves. People are still striving to realize their best selves and struggling to be good people. It is nice to see children how to treat others well. The human spirit is lovely. People need to feed that spirit. It keeps us alive. I think God is pleased when we seek to understand her. What more does she ask for?

Beach Cleanup

Today we cleaned up a beach in a small village called Ola. The beach was full of pieces of trash. The locals often drop their trash on the ground. The trash they accumulate at home is burned in a large pile about once or twice a week. Both methods of disposal present huge environmental issues. Cleaning up the beach was especially gross because locals who live near the beach also shit on the beach and then bury it. Gross for those who were cleaning it. We worked with volunteers from other organizations, but I still couldn't help but think we should not be cleaning the beach. If Ghanaians dirtied the beach, shouldn't they be the ones to clean it? I have never seen Chinese citizens cleaning up American beaches? Nor have I seen Polish citizens picking up trash off of America's highways? I really think that all of the many NGOs in Africa are right in coming to assist in solving problems in Africa; however, I think they are wrong in doing the work that the locals should be doing. Ghanaians will not understand the real consequences of dropping trash wherever they please until they are the ones to pick it up and experience how nasty it is. Also, education is a very important factor in preventing the long-term effects of mismanagement of the earth. I could go on and on about that but at the end of the day, when people are struggling to have their basic needs met, environmentalism is their last concern.

Appreciation

Since Being in Ghana there are a few things that I have learned to appreciate that I have never considered the importance of before. Here is a list of things I am thankful for:

1. Clean water. I have never had to think about my relationship with water until I came to Ghana and understood how sick one can become from unclean water. The schools have students who have river blindness, worms in their stools and other diseases who are often absent because of their inability to access clean water. There are signs all over Ghana informing people of the dangers of unclean water...but people are still interacting with water in ways that are harmful to their health. I have to use bottled, or boiled water, with all things that go in my mouth...even my toothbrush. As small as that sounds, it is a lot of work.

2. Running water. Bucket showering, washing dishes and washing clothes has really made me appreciate the ability to turn on a faucet and have water flow freely.

3. Washing machines . As of this week, I have hired someone to wash my clothes. Hand washing all of your clothes is hard work.

4. International products. I am not a big soda drinker, but Coca-Cola is the only product that I can find that is exactly the same here and back home. It just feels good to pop a top and know what to expect. (I love Coke as a company and I want to work for them someday...)

5. Developed roads. Vehicle fatalities are the highest cause of death in Ghana. It is largely because of the undeveloped roads. Even the roads that are paved are largely unattended and full of pot holes.

6. Privacy. There is no sense of private time in Ghana. All spaces are shared. All items belong to the community. I have a new appreciation for my own space and my own property.

7. Developed Underground Sewage systems. The sewage flows openly the side of the road. Yuck

8. Expensive mattresses. Sleeping on the floor is hell. My back is killing me. I hope this damage is not irreversible. I said expensive mattresses because cheap mattresses can be as bad as sleeping on the floor. My group has started calling me the "Princess and the Pea" because I have purchased several sleeping mats and have them stacked, but every morning I still complain of back pains.

9. A stable government. Although Ghana is a safe country, many surrounding countries have issues with military coups and government overthrows. I cannot imagine living in that type of instability.

10. Employment. I know that the unemployment rate in America is the highest it has been in many years but we, as a nation, have NEVER seen real employment issues (even during the great depression) like African nations. I cannot begin to explain the social, emotional, environmental and familial issues that come from lack of work. Appreciate your job.

There are about 20 more things I could list. but these are my top ten.

There are a few things in Ghana that make me laugh. I love the way that everyone pretends to be very religious and traditional, but in reality most people do whatever they want...especially the young people. Christina is different from most of the women in Ghana. She has her own small apartment and takes care of herself. Most women in Ghana go from their parents house to their husbands homes. I think it is very important for all people to live on their own for a while. It is very revealing. I never knew I could kill a bug until I lived on my own. When I had to choose between not sleeping or killing the spider and getting my peace of mind; I got up and killed the spider. I developed a strength I never knew I had. Now I don't need a man, or anyone else for that matter, to kill bugs for me (unless the bug is really big or has several legs). Anyway, Christina has her own place and Gabrielle "rests at her house when it is too late to return home". Gabrielle rests at her house so much he has clothes there...So they totally live together. But as long as they pretend that they don't, everyone in Ghana is fine with it. Gabrielle is preparing to move to Canada to get his doctorate in theology. He is a very smart man. His dissertation is going to compare the way Jesus healed and the way ministers claim to heal today (like laying hands on people, speaking demons out of people and sprinkling them with holy water or oil). Interesting. Too bad none of those ministers are actually Jesus...Ha! Ghanians really believe in that stuff though. Sorry, I got of track. So, Christina did well on an exam and I asked did they plan to "celebrate" (hint, hint) tonight. They laughed. I took it a bit further. I whispered, "A little fornication never hurt anybody." They laughed harder. Then Gabrielle corrected me, "I don't like to call it fornication. We call it co-habitation". I guess it sounds nicer and less sinful. I dig it. Do know I have made several classless jokes that have been made funnier by my use of the word "cohabitation". So many things are hidden or quieted here. I hear the locals use the word "shame" a lot. It keeps people living in constant fear or guilt.

Oh, one of the members of my group is a homosexual male. Ghana, as a country, does not really accept homosexuality. Fortunately, it is not illegal. In Uganda, homosexuals are executed. No questions asked. In Ghana, they are shamed, isolated, ridiculed or teased. Anyway, this group member isn't really out there, but he is unquestionably gay. Christina and Gabrielle asked me why he stands with his hands on his hips. Gabrielle wanted to know why he hangs out with the ladies. I dismissed their questions with vague responses; but they already know, they do not need my confirmation. Anyway, this homosexual group member carries a "fanny" with him when we go to town. This morning, I looked through his fanny for some lotion and I found the funniest things. He had his wallet, lotion, snacks for the day, Vaseline that he applies to his lips every 10 minutes, and a big ass switch blade. I pulled out the blade in shock, "What is this knife for?!". He laughed, "You never know when you will need to cut somebody." I laughed too...He is a smart young man to know that he might need that blade here in Ghana. Hell, I am pretty sure he carries that blade in America too. Kind of makes you think; huh?

A New School...Please listen for a brief Commerical

This week I have been working at another school. The structure of school is very similar. Lots of down time, little instructional time, rote memorization, beautiful students, very little resources, uniformity, etc...We have been visiting these schools to teach them about proper hand washing and good sanitation practices. The further you get from the big city the less English the locals speak. We have been teaching using a translator. I do not really like it. I feel like it is a waste of time and energy. Shouldn't the translator just teach the information? I feel like the volunteers are being made a spectacle of. The students just look at us...stare at us while we talk and then understand the information from someone else. Why are we there? Is the information more legitimate when it comes from a bunch of Americans? We went to one class and the teacher introduced us, "We have some White people who have come to talk to you so listen up or you will suffer the consequences", then he motioned for us to take the floor. I laughed. Did this man not notice I am not White? and neither is this clearly Asian dude? When I finished teaching my part of the lesson, I motioned for the teacher to met me outside. "Why did you call me White? Look at me. I am a Black American. An African American. My skin is like yours," and then I held my arm beside his arm so he could see that we were the same, "I am not White." He paused. "I thought you would want to be called White. Did I offend you?" I informed him that not only had he offended me but he also offended the Chinese American guy who did not wish to be called White. He apologized as if he still didn't understand what the problem was. I guess he thought he was giving me a compliment... While speaking about race, I will interrupt this blog for a brief commercial:

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Follow this link to hear the most popular song in Ghana! And it happens to be my personal favorite! Monica, Crystal and Mommie I think you will get a kick out of this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTqSHhqFOyo


I have met a couple that I really like. I have dinner at their house a lot. There names are Christina and Gabrielle. I have more friends! Yeah, I'm cool like that :)

Raining Waist Beads

I never knew what rain really was until I came to Ghana. Right now it is the rainy season and it literally RAINS every single night. It is loud, heavy, plopping rain that makes me wonder if the poor homes on the eroding hill are going to make it. After each rain, they are all still there. The rain keeps me up a lot at night. Back home, rain is so relaxing. I get my best sleep on rainy nights. This Ghanaian rain is something completely different. It keeps me wide awake and makes me wonder about God and how small I am compared to the collective power of the massive raindrops. Last night lightening struck so hard that the house literally shook. I was going to call out to see if the others were awake but in that moment I was afraid of the sound of my own voice. I think that is what it means to be terrified. Turns out, the others were wide-eyed and awake just like me. I guess it was one of those situations where everyone knew not to say a word...silence seemed like the safer option. Didn't want to upset the storm, or God. Seemed it was best to shut up and let her work. After a heavy rain everything is flooded and water collects in the potholes in the road. Yet, the standing water does nothing to slow down the production of the people. Everyone walks around, or through, the muddy water with their plantains on their heads and go to the market as if nothing happened. I am still getting used to it. My next visit to Africa will be in the dry season. I have heard it is so different. A man in the market said that one has never experienced the power of the sun until they are in sub-Saharan Africa in the dry season. No wonder the people are so Black.

I have recently discovered an African female tradition:Waist Beads. Mothers tie beads around their daughters waist to ensure that they will have a curvy shape upon development. When your beads sit above your waist, it means that you have hips and are therefore a woman. When you become a woman no one is to see your waist beads anymore. They are very sacred. All the little girls running around naked or half dressed have on waist beads. The women wear them too, but of course I don't see theirs until I ask about them. A young teacher showed me hers at the school. She told me they glow in the dark; trashy. LOL! I love it. So, I have gotten some waist beads and I LOVE THEM! They are very sexy. Most women wear 3-5 that they keep on for years and years. I am so crazy about these beads that I have about 12 around my waist. The beads are sold really long so I usually have extra beads remaining and I have put them around my wrist and ankles. I think I might need to remove some of my beads because they keep showing. Women run up to me in the market and point to my waist with alarm in their eyes. "Your beads are SHOWING!" their eyes scream, as if my hymen has been broken with the very second my beads escaped from my pants. I LOVE IT! It is so risque. Speaking of risque, I have also learned that wearing an anklet is a sign of prostitution and I have about 7 around my ankle as of now. I have yet to be solicited for any services. I asked a local why no one wants to buy the services I am advertising with my anklet. She told me that it doesn't really mean anything unless I am standing a certain street corner. Ha! Some things are universal...

Ode to a Ghanaian Taxi Driver

This is an original poem that was first written on my blackberry after another bad experience with a Ghanaian Taxi Driver. It is a bit of a rant. Enjoy

Ghanaian taxi driver oh how I loathe thee with your crooked ways and sliding rates
I wish I did not need your evil services to go to town today
You pull up in your raggedy car
I wonder if it was retrieved from the bottom of Lake Michigan and sold to you
Dented, rickety, dilapidated, unsafe
Still, your taxi is one of the best on the road
The bald tires, immobile windows and cut seat belts make it a bit typical
You say it will cost 3 cedi (dollars) to take me to town
I say "No thanks!"
I walk away
You can't overcharge me Ghanaian Taxi Driver
"Okay, 2 cedi" he calls
I hop in
Can't take advantage of me Mr. Ghanaian Taxi Man
A beautiful Ghanaian woman who sells oranges in the market hops in as well
You say it will cost 20 peswas (cent) to take her to town
Why, oh, why does the Ghanaian woman with the fruits pay only 20 peswas?
You requested 2 cedi from me?
I thought my black skin would make me your sister and you would care for me?
Taxi driver why are you robbing me?
Does my American accent make be an Obruni? (word used to describe whites. Means trickster)
Is your goal to get me first?
No tip for you Rip Off Ghanaian Taxi Driver
I notice your shirt with the rips and your worn shoes
I wonder about your children's clothes and shoes
The lady with the oranges has shoes like yours
Maybe that is why you charge her peswas and me cedis
My shoes told you I could afford more
Still, I should kick your ass Ghanaian taxi driver
I hate the way you drive
Should I call it driving?
My heart skips a beat every time you speed for no reason
I am not in a hurry
You hit the goats with your raggedy car
You would not hit the goats if you would drive on the road
Oh, Ghanaian driver why won't you just drive on the road?
As you speed over the speed bumps and around pot holes my life flashes before my eyes
I question why I didn't get out of the cab the last time you breaked suddenly
My neck just jerked you jerk
I then remember all the cab drivers drive like you
I would hate you and kick your ass
I should call you a dumb ass slimy mother fucker while I slash your tires
and pour sugar in your tank
Would you know what mother fucker means?
Would you know that I was insulting you with my American potty mouth?
Should I ask you how to say mother fucker in Fante so I can call you one?
"Sir"
I call
To ask you to slow down and how to curse you out
All you do is give me blank stares with your yellow eyes
Those yellow eyes make you look crooked and sly
I know that the yellow is a result of your childhood malnutrition
Your family fed you nightly
Lots of starch
not enough meat and veggies
Malnutrition
Is that what made you drive this way?
"Sir"
"Sir"
"SIR!"
"STOP!"
I push my way out of the taxi
I grudgingly hand you 2 cedi
I am pissed you over charge me
For this shitty ride, in this shitty car, with your shitty attitude
"Sir, wait"
I hand him 20 peswas
Why a tip?
A small insurance that his children don't become
Crazy-driving-yellow-eyed-unsafe-car-taxi-drivers
Plus,
This is the best taxi ride I have had all week

"Is AIDS really real? Cause my daddy said it is not"

Wonder Woman my ass. The next day they said they talked to the boss back in America and he said they can keep the project money. I called to see if it was true, and indeed it was. Mr. Boss man said, "Adrianne, I understand your concerns about the project money but we are here to work WITH the locals and not OVER them. We cannot treat everyone as if they are crooks Adrianne. Giving you the money would defeat our goal to build relationships, blah, blah, blah." I beg to differ. I was so angry when he told me this I was shaking. I do not think he understands the amount of idleness, excuses and disorganization that I have seen from the organization since I have been here. Anyway, I haven't been that angry in a long time and I almost forgot how bad it feels to be mad. Yesterday could have been the worst day I have had in Ghana. Lucky for me, I have met another African-American here in Kakumdo who took me to the beach and to the bar for some relaxation. His name is Chris. Chris is what I call a "peace and blessings" or a "gypsy" from Atlanta. He is has been living in Ghana for sometime and he is here to study herbal remedies. He gave me some type of magic wheatgrass/herbal powder plant to put in my tea that he swears will prevent me from ever getting malaria. I promised him I would take it to wash down my malaria medications. Anyway, today I started working with another NGO called HEPENS. I have no ideas what the acronym stands for, but their current goal is to teach about HIV/AIDS in local communities and schools. I never understood why the rates of HIV/AIDS in Africa are still so high until I went on this trip. One of the Africans who works with HEPENS told the students that the only way to get HIV/AIDS is through blood. He went on to explain that the only reason people get HIV/AIDS from having sex is that when sex gets really dry, due to the womans lack of lubrication, the friction causes the skin to rub and break and both parties can start bleeding on each other. I am sure you are crying laughing by now...or maybe you are in total shock. Fortunately, another volunteer stopped him and corrected him on that misinformation but continued with more misinformation. He attempted to explain the purpose of the woman's vagina. "Woman's vagina is for three things: childbirth, menstruation and urination". URINATION? I don't ever remember urinating out of my vagina...but maybe I missed something? This man has three children. His poor, poor wife. Anyway, the students continued by asking questions that really blew my mind, "Is it true that HIV/AIDS is a curse from God because the chiefs upset him?" "Can the something-something leaf cure AIDS?", "My father said that AIDs is not real so I don't believe that what you say is true". After all of these questions, it really helped me understand, on a deeper level, what the issues really are. It is deep. Deeper than I can really understand. I am drowning in the deepness of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in Africa.

For the last few weeks I have been meaning to make a list of the things that I love about Africa. Everyday something keeps me from doing it so today I bought extra time at the internet cafe to send you this list.

10 REASONS I LOVE AFRICA

1.The people here are beautiful. Their skin, teeth, bodies, EVERYTHING. Everyone in Ghana is so defined. Beautiful. Beautiful Black people. (I now understand why so many people see Americans as fat and lazy)

2. The children are self-sufficient. The babies cry less, the children do more for themselves. They are not constantly monitored and supervised and they are all okay. I love it!

3. The animals are treated humanely. Well, the animals kinda roam around everywhere and it gets to be annoying, but there is not a concept of raising chickens, cows or goats in mass. The animals are a part of the daily lives of the people.

4. There is a strong family bond. Family is everything. Family really comes first. I like it.

5. The village raises the child. I know we have heard this so much in America and it seems a bit cliche. However, in Ghana, the village really does raise the child. Children are everywhere running in and out of everyone's house. They are feed by everyone, loved by everyone and caned by everyone.

6. The people believe in hard work. No one here is really lazy. Because there is a lack of work to do, it may appear that some are lazy but in reality everyone wakes up early and starts working (sweeping, tending to animals, beating kids) immediately.

7. The land is beautiful. I have a whole new appreciation for the color green. It is so plush and beautiful. The whole country is like a green carpet.

8. Black people are amazing. People of color have some similar traits we took with us as we dispersed from Africa: loud laughter, dance, physical love, passion, humanity, community, and perseverance. It is a lot of fun here.

9. The market. I just like it.

10. Education is truly valued. People really do care to be educated...If only the education wasn't so crappy.

P.S. Special shout out to Ernesto, Crystal and Monica...Thanks for reading my blog everyday.

My Western Mind

Africans, but more specifically Ghanians, have very different way of doing things. Having lived in Africa for two weeks now, I understand why Westerns are unable to help in solving many of Africa's problems. The entire THINKING is so different. As a Westerner (and I have never taken on such a title until my experience here in Africa has made me hyper aware of how much I am under the Western influence) my natural inclination is to call many of the things I see here in Africa "backwards"; however, I will resist that judgement statement and refer to them as different. In the West there is an emphasis placed on the individual. Here in Africa, the emphasis is always on the unit, or the community, even if it is to the detriment of the individual. Westerners focus on accountability. Ghanians are more focused on relationships. I am currently reading an excellent book that explains these differences, it is called "African Friends and Money Matters". I highly recommend it to any Westerner traveling to Africa to stay for an extended period of time. Today I had to remember that the Eastern and Western mentality are different in order to deal with the situation I was presented. Here goes. The group that I came with was given a certain amount of project money in which we are supposed to assist in various projects with a few NGOs in the area. Our project money was given to one specific NGO to distribute to the others to take care of our project needs. As we are well into our projects the need for the funds has arisen. But where, oh where, has the project money gone? Oh where oh where can it be? When I asked the person who was given the money about the funds I received a lot of vague answers which came off as total avoidance. Fishy, huh? He would not tell me the amount of the money he was given but was very interested in knowing if I knew how much the group was supposed to have. Unfortunately, I did not. He proceeded to tell me that he could not give me the funds to use to paint the school or to buy trash cans to place in the communities because the NGO leaders had not filled out the proper paper work. He said that he has already told them to fill out the forms but they have not. I reminded him that the money that was given to him was OUR, the volunteers, MONEY and that we needed it so that we could get to work. We only have four more weeks to make our small impact in Ghana! He then said, It would be unfair to give us our own money because then we could decided what organizations to give it to and that would not be right. (If you are an American reading this, this is the point where you will have to turn off your rational mind so that the rest of this will make sense to you. I know this will be difficult but I have learned this as a survival mechanism that has saved me several times in Africa. Stop thinking with your rational mind now. This is not supposed to make sense, unless you are African). He proposed that the money should be divided evenly between the NGOs so that no one would be upset. This made no sense to me because one of the NGOs is a school that does not have enough classrooms, which is in need of a lot of assistance, and the others are organizations that go to the community and teach people how to properly wash their hands, which takes some soap and water and a bucket. He was more concerned with relationships and his goal was to make sure the leaders of the other NGOs were not upset. I, with my Western self, was more concerned with bringing forth the most long-term benefits to the largest group of people. As simple as that sounds, it was nearly impossible for him to understand (as it would be for many Africans) why I did not care if the NGO leaders where upset with me. After much debate and handling business like a true Aries woman, I was able to get all the project funds put in my hands so that the group can ensure that our money does not go to waste or end up in the wrong hands. Yes, I, "Western Woman", saved the day. We got our project money. Stay tuned for next weeks episode of "Western Woman" in which Western Woman and the group will determine how the funds will be used. And now a word from our sponsors...

Taxi Man

There are a lot of people in Ghana who are unemployed. I would venture to say that most people in Ghana are not working. It is sad. The women always seem to be busy. I guess "a womans work is never done"; so, even if unemployed, the women are in a constant state of doing. There are a lot of beautiful, Black, young, able-bodied, men who are just standing around. (I feel like I have mentioned this already but it is such a big problem that saying it twice would still not be giving enough attention to the matter). Today I took a few pictures of men at work. I am assuming that neither of these men are collecting money for their work but I was impressed with their state of DOING. There is too much idleness here. Lots of sleeping on benches. Sitting on corners. Standing around. Leaning on walls. Walking slow. I wonder what that does for people mentally and emotionally...I can not be healthy. I am a firm believer that all people have the need to contribute in society and to see the value in their contribution. We all need something to do. It is the only way life is worthwhile...What else would we live for? Also, today I visited to the oldest standing Slave Castle in Elimina. On the way back from Elimina our crazy-driving taxi driver got into a car accident. It was a fender bender, and everyone got out of the car, said a few words, and went on their way. I was impressed with the flexibility of the people but concerned with the lack of consequence for reckless driving. The taxi's in Ghana are crazy! Scary to say the least. I would prefer not to ride in them at all. But how else will I get around?

An Education

Ghanaian schools are interesting. I am not sure if I will call them schools at all anymore. Perhaps I should call them "Institutions of Passive Socialization". The students are taught to recite correct answers and not to actually THINK.
The teacher says, "Two plus two is four. Class what is two plus two."
"Four!" they shout.
"Good...Moving on." With that, every student is supposed to really UNDERSTAND how to add.
They learn to read by memorization and not phonetically which means a lot of them cannot read. I had a professor name Ronald Butchart, who was a simply brilliant man, who said that almost all teaching methods work. If you beat people who don't know how to read, people will learn to read. If you reward people who know how to read, people will learn to read. If you spend time teaching someone sounds, people will know how to read. But the question is, can they really read? Well, the students in Ghana cannot. Most of the students do not even speak loud enough to hear whether they are answering a question right or wrong. The fear of being wrong is so great that students are afraid, and shy, when answering questions. Whatever confidence they had, or could have had, has surely been beaten out of them. Caning happens everyday. All the time. It creates a big problem. Students can't be wrong. You can not learn if you can not be wrong...at least sometimes..
I can't even poll the class for understanding. I can teach a lesson on government and then try to check for understanding.
If I ask, "Do you understand why countries have governments?"
The class answers in unison, "Yes Madame."
I will then ask, "Does anyone have any questions?"
United they answer, "Noooo Madame."
"Good! Then can someone raise their hand and explain the purpose of government"
No hands.
"Class, you all said you understood. That means 100% of you should be able to explain why countries have governments."
Nothing.
Eventually an unsure student will slowly raise their hand to appease me and to take the pressure of the rest of the class.
"Madame, I believe people have governments to keep peace in a country." Even with a correct answer she is so doubtful and fearful in answering.
"Exactly!" I exclaim, "Now who can tell me how citizens participate in governance in a democracy?"
...Again, I will restart the long and grueling process of forcing students to answer a question.
It is hard for me to understand what they are so afraid of, considering that I don't even have the cane in my hand, much less in the room...but then again I totally understand.

Today one of our group members broke down in tears in the middle of the school day. She was so discouraged because she felt that the students were not really learning and she really wanted to help them but she felt helpless. The teachers are children themselves. Many of them are 18 and 19 and often they teach the students incorrect information. Watching a non-French speaker teach French is painful. Her pronunciation is laughable to embarrassing; but, when 40 children repeat that broken French after the teacher, it is downright disheartening. A new generation of non-French speakers emerges with each lesson.

There is no regard for the URGENCY of education. Today lunch lasted about 2 hours because the teachers were hanging out in the teachers lounge while the students ran outside. No one rang the bell to restart classes. The teachers are like a bunch of high school kids chilling at work. Its like when you go to Subway to get a sandwich and no one greats you. You look through the window of the back door and there is the entire staff, clowning around. Finally, one of them makes the sacrifice to come out and give you half assed service so they can get back to hanging out with their friends. The fact that they had to help you is somehow irritating to them, as if you are disturbing the urgent thing they are doing in the back. That is education in Ghana. The teachers are not coming out to help these kids. When they finally do, they throw them a little bone of knowledge and then dismiss them to recess. This happens on a daily basis. It is more like a summer camp than a school. When the discouraged group member finished her cry she laughed and said, "I wonder if there are schools like this in America?" I quickly responded, "Yes there are a lot of them. Sadly, the students who attend those schools look just like the students in this school in Africa." I wonder if she has ever cried for them...

A Touristy Weekend

This weekend the group and I decided to see some of the popular tourist attractions that are near Kakumdo. I have realized how much I really hate touristy stuff. It is so much more pleasant and more authentic to be and live amongst the locals than to be shuffling around in a group of foreign look-a-loos and their annoying clicking cameras. Shamefully, this weekend I was one of them. Friday we went to the Cape Coast Castle which was one of the largest slave exporting ports in West Africa. We decided against the guided tour and wondered around the castle and drew our own conclusions about what happened there. There were no surprises. I walked into the female slave chambers and walked through the "Door of No Return". I have so much to say about the institution of enslaving African people that I am left speechless.......................................

Moving on...We woke up early this morning to go to the Kakum National Park. It was very cool. We did not see any animals but the hanging bridges were cool. A lot more sketchy than the ones I walked in Costa Rica. I liked it though. Because we didn't see any animals at the park (apparently you have to arrive at about 5 in the morning to catch a glimpse of an animal) we decided to visit a place called "Monkey Forest". It is owned by some Europeans who have decided to live in the bush of Ghana and take care of abused or hurt animals. They had a small selection of animals to see but a lot of them were in cages and I just don't dig seeing animals living in cages. It was cool though. One time was enough. We moved on to Han's Cottage which was a tourist trap if their ever was one. A lot of people go there to see and feed the crocodiles. They also have a restaurant. The food was overpriced. The service was by far the worst service I have ever received in my life. It took forever to get the food and whenever you asked if the food was coming the response was the same, "It is just coming" or "just a moment". 45 minutes of "It is just coming later" we received some decent yet overpriced food. Getting them to bring the check was just as torturous as waiting for the food. Simply stated, never again. On the way home we were stopped a police check point because the driver brought his son along and there was no seat for him in the van. He was sitting in a make-shift seat and the police officer was going to give the driver a ticket. The drivers son handled the situation in the good old Ghanaian fashion. He gave him a bribe of 1 Cedi (equivalent to about 65 or 70 cents) and we were on our merry way.

Aside: I am the only one on this trip to be bitten by mosquitoes. As of now, I have been bitten twice.