“This White Woman Touched My Balloon!”

Week 12’s academic experience was about as thrilling as previous weeks.  However, I did learn that “moustache” in Twi is “mfemfem.” How adorable is that?!  Other than that, the main development of the week was learning that I’ll be presenting a group oral report on Ghanaian media a week earlier than expected (November 7), meaning I’ll have 2 weeks free for traveling before my first final exam.  Good thing we’re about 12% prepared for that presentation. Eh. (But seriously, uh oh).

My day at Beacon House on Thursday began once again with helping Ben work through a Ghanaian short story, one that was about as ridiculous as the last one about a slow-moving bus driver. This week’s featured 6 Ghanaian ladies traveling to a school to help teachers “work harder.”  Women teachers were taught subjects that had generally been instructed by men, like Math, Science…basically anything that isn’t home/baby-related.  Everyone was just ecstatic that women were taught how to “work harder.” Lord. If this story sounds ridiculous, take a look at what next week has in store:

Before lunch, and because I can’t go a day without something comical happening, I had to deal with removing a wild animal from the classroom.  This ordeal lasted for about 30 minutes (23 minutes longer than it probably should have lasted). The damn creature decided to hide in the corner of the classroom where all the 50+ pound rice bags were.  With the help of this beautiful Swiss lady, I hoisted away about  33% 66% of the bags before zeroing in on the target: a small moderately-sized lizard.

Look at this bastard

After almost shitting my pants when seeing how outrageously long the tail was, and after we she stopped hyperventilating, we armed ourselves with brooms and created a pathway for the little dude to escape outside through. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.  I just can’t resist hyperbole always sometimes.  The experience is pretty comparable to this video. Skip to about 1:52, or watch the entire thing because they’re British which means they’re perfect.

I made it back from lunch just in time to watch the conclusion of the original 1966 Batman film starring Adam West.  I had never seen this movie before, but after seeing the concluding fight scene, I think I will need to watch it about 12 more times. I’m not really sure what the purpose of the cat was, but I’m really glad he/she was an integral part of the scene. Bon voyage, pussy!

After the movie finished, and because the day evidently wasn’t jocular enough, I had to help blow up more balloons for the kids. Look. It’s wonderful that the simplest things like balloon sword fights can bring so much entertainment, but after everybody’s balloon eventually met its demise and with all the tears and demands for roughly 126 more balloons that followed, I was just not interested anymore. I decided to sadistically snatch some balloons just because I found their reactions to the slightest inkling of balloon thievery hilarious.

I can’t even with this kid

Is the loss of a balloon for maybe 4 seconds really worth screaming and bursting into tears over? Geesh. Anyway, the real thing to take away from this experience is the following complaint from 4 year old Michael to one of the house mothers: “This white woman touched my balloon!”

My life. On the bright side, I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that day for perhaps the first time in a decade. It was fantastic.

My sandal met its probable permanent demise on the way back to campus that evening. I guess for a $0.25 repair, I shouldn’t be too saddened that it only survived 5 more days.  Rest well, buddy. Maybe we’ll resuscitate you back in New York.

I couldn’t go to work Friday morning because we all had to attend a “lecture” on slavery to “prepare” us for our trip to Cape Coast to visit centuries-old castles where the slave trade was conducted for hundreds of years.  Once the lecturer began by uttering, “The Jews were enslaved by Egypt! Have you heard about that?” I knew my time was about to be wasted. Things deteriorated fairly quickly, culminating in him advising us to not let ourselves be emotionally affected by our visit to the slave castles. He honestly couldn’t understand how people, even those with ancestral connections to the slave trade, could get to the point of tears when walking through the dungeons and seeing the conditions slaves were subjected to.  I could physically feel how offended the entire room was. Pocahontas understands.

Later that afternoon, after acquiring a new pair of sandals by the mall that I struggled immensely expertly bargained down to $12.50, I received a knock on my door. I don’t know what possessed me to open it, but I’m really glad I did because 2 friendly people had come to talk to me! They told me they were just visiting rooms checking up on people, which seemed harmless enough.  After more pleasantries were exchanged, the girl asked me if I knew Jesus Christ. Great. I know where this is going, I thought. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got him on speed dial” I replied in my head.  They didn’t seem too phased when I told them that I was Jewish, and that my Jesus knowledge wasn’t too extensive. “Savior, blah blah” is pretty much what I said when they asked me what I knew about him. After about 20 minutes and they had exhausted the usual nonsense about how nothing done or any accomplishment on Earth matters at all unless I accept Jesus as my Savior, they recommended that I read a book they saw on my roommate’s shelf entitled Hell Is Full of Good People. Yeah. I’ll add that to my damn reading list. They also told me that they’d return shortly with a Bible for me. STILL WAITING! Take it away, April.

We left at around 7:30 Saturday morning for Cape Coast, about 3.5 hours outside of Accra.  We visited Kakum National Park which featured a canopy-walk of 7 bridges, 100-150 (or more. Or less. Not sure) feet above the ground.  This experience was slightly more terrifying than I had expected; the guide told us not to worry if the wood creaked under our feet. I worried. By Bridge 3 my legs were less jelly-like and I was able to enjoy and appreciate the views and moment more.

Just a tad terrifying

The main highlight and real focus of the trip was the visit to Elima and/or Cape Coast Castle. I and a few other people elected to visit just Cape Coast Castle, the youngest of the Ghanaian slave trade castles, constructed in the mid-17^thcentury. A reflection session was held after dinner to discuss the trip, and people were able to so eloquently and articulately vocalize their thoughts and feelings, in ways I have never been able to do. 36 hours later I’m still trying to work through exactly how I feel/felt about walking through one of history’s grossest blemishes.  The smells, seeing first-hand the rooms where hundreds of Africans were kept in the dark with no sanitation, hearing the stories of physical abuse and rape…it’s just incomprehensible. The juxtaposition of the beauty of the Castle’s exterior/its location and the understanding of what slaves experienced as they were led through the “Door of No Return” was particularly jarring.

Slaves were led through the Door of No Return, the last door they’d walk through in Africa.

The last view of home the slaves would have.

The beautiful, shiny exterior of Cape Coast Castle.

I don’t know. I went to the Castle having no idea how I would react, or how I would feel. Some experiences take time for its significance to become apparent.  I might not have any direct connection to African slavery, but on a human level, this is an aspect of history that is universally important.  It needs to be understood what drove humanity to conduct these atrocities to help acknowledge or recognize what’s being done today that, while not at the scale of the slave trade, is comparable to the exploitative, power relationships that still exist throughout the world. Oppression didn’t start and end with the Atlantic Slave Trade. My family by virtue of being European Jews suffered through the Holocaust. Minority groups find themselves struggling daily in a society where difference is often equated with inferiority.

I maintain the belief that people aren’t all good or all bad, that seeing and recognizing our own flaws will allow for the acceptance of others.  But acceptance of others can’t come without first accepting and loving yourself. I’ve realized that part of why I have trouble relating to others is because of my unwillingness to let people really know me.  For whatever reason, (fear, I suppose), I came to the conclusion that aspects of my life needed to remain hidden in order to maintain any of the few relationships I have with other people.  While there’s been some progress this past year with self-acceptance, I’m still hindered by lingering distrust and poor self-esteem.  I’ve come across people whom I would love to be open with, but still find myself fearful of them not liking what they see. Them seeing nothing at all has been my preferred solution for so long and breaking from that mindset is something I’ve only recently begun attempting.

If anything, my trip to Cape Coast Castle has helped me recognize the progress humanity has made but also the reality that much more still needs to be done.  It’s helped me recognize this progress in myself and the issues I still grapple with.  It’s helped me appreciate the flawed-nature of humanity, and our privilege that allows us to choose whether or not to overcome these flaws.  Mankind’s unique ability to choose has been humanity’s most detrimental trait. It’s up to current and future generations to make this ability positive, powerful and valuable.

Alright, hope I didn’t lose all of you towards the end there.  To lighten things up, enjoy this scene from last week’s Parks and Recreation. The fact that I cried while laughing during this is a good indication of where my maturity level is:

To my New York/Washington, D.C. family and friends, stay safe and make good decisions!

Wicky Wacky Woo

As I sit down to write this, I genuinely can’t believe that another week has passed. One would normally associate speedy days with busyness, but I can’t really use that as an excuse here. Maybe I can a little, but still. It’s been 11 weeks already. That’s just ridiculous.

Here are Bossman’s “Gems of the Week”in Sucks That Y’all Were Born in Ghana:

• “Teachers aren’t professionals.” Uhh…then what are they?
• “Can the Japanese guarantee that there will be no stones in their rice? Can we (Ghana) guarantee that?”
• “Do you think Africanization would be better than Westernization? You like the witch camps? Let’s be frank.

On the bright side, he finally decided to discuss some negative aspects of globalization.

Later that Monday night, as I was enjoying my $0.30 dinner of groundnut soup with rice balls at the Night Market, I was joined by Kwame, this seemingly-pleasant Ghanaian man.  Obviously I would have preferred to have been left alone (we know how I feel about most human interaction), but he wasn’t being too bothersome. He asked me how I was liking Ghana, how I feel about Obama/Romney, what my favorite Ghanaian food is, etc. Nothing too out of the ordinary, right? But since this is me, I can’t have normal interactions with anybody strangers. I should have known things were going south when he started talking about how crappy Ghanaian clothes are, and when he asked me what the cost is for a good pair of pants in the US.  I don’t remember exactly what he said, but here’s the gist of it: “I really need an overseas contact. You’re not going home for a few months, which is plenty of time for me to start to trust you.  I hope we can become friends and you’ll buy me pants when you’re back home. What’s your room number?”  I don’t know why I was surprised by how quickly our conversation devolved; I mean, I’m the person whose earphones were nibbled on by a homeless man who didn’t know he was supposed to put them in his ear, and who had newspapers thrown at him by a different homeless man (DC really needs to do something about its homelessness situation).  I don’t know. There’s just something about me that attracts these kinds of exchanges.

I think I need to start wearing one of these pins.

Not much happened on Tuesday besides a Twi test, which I think went well. I also created a potential schedule for next semester (International Economics, French, Psychological Anthropology taught by this beautiful silver fox, French, Cultures of Latin America, and Global Health and Development). What I really want to discuss is Wednesday, the day we got our exam grades back in Colonial Rule/African Response.  Here’s an excerpt from my journal entry that night, when my feelings were still raw (Note the difference in quality of writing. I try to keep things classy on the blog, but my journal lacks these constraints): “FUCK. What the actual fuck? I want to punch whoever graded these, probably my dumbass TA, in the esophagus.” Sure, I got a 15.5/20, which I suppose isn’t so bad, but there are some really intelligent people who got a 10 or 11/20 and that’s just not acceptable. No explanations were given for why an answer was wrong, and if you didn’t write exactly what the professor wanted, you were screwed.  If that’s what you wanted, then you should have made it a multiple choice exam, buddy. For example, one question asked to explain the legacy of colonization’s social impact. I wrote about how the re-drawing of boundaries/splitting up tribes/ethnic groups has led to ongoing ethnic conflict. That was apparently wrong.  Here’s another journal excerpt: “WHAT?! Are you fucking retarded?!” That must be it because the professor also said that slavery has no relevance to the course…entitled Colonial Rule and African Response. Good grief, man. Good freakin grief.

The University of Ghana really needs to get its shit together.

I started the day at Beacon House Thursday morning by reading a story to the kids about mermaids and evil sharks. I don’t really remember the details, probably due to a combination of a lame plot and tiredness.  Next they practiced adding numbers only by 2 to help them memorize answers. Timing them in solving 100 problems seemed to be a really effective method. I don’t remember how I was taught basic adding/subtraction, but since I eviscerated my classmates in timed math drills back in the day, I’m sure similar methods were applied.  Later that morning Zilda “taught” some more French and had the kids draw themselves. Daniel A. decided to draw me instead:

The resemblance is uncanny

In the afternoon, I “helped” blow up some balloons to make into hats for the children.  This is not an easy task for me, as evidenced by this picture from Summer 2011:

Guess which pile is mine?

Thankfully, the kids were really understanding and patient as I pathetically struggled. Wait. No. They were the worst. They all crowded around me shoving balloons in my face that they wanted me to blow up for them. “I want one as my own!!” they repeatedly whined at me.  More reasons for why I shouldn’t become a teacher became clear when all I could think about was saying back to them, “Yeah? Well I want you to shut the fuck up!” (Teachers: Do you have these thoughts/do you hate yourself for having them?).  It’s probably a good thing that I had to leave by 5:30 that day.

Look at this badass

Thursday was a friend’s 21^st birthday, and I decided to act like a normal 20 year old and go out and celebrate with her and some other friends. It was also my half-birthday, and since I’m sure my actual birthday won’t be worth talking about, at least I’ll have October 18^th to look back on! Our first stop was this Irish pub/restaurant in Osu, the place where all the nice restaurants and clubs are located and therefore a place I never go to. Everything on the menu was horrifyingly expensive by Ghanaian standards, so I settled on a $7.50 burger and basically cried over some beautiful garlic bread.  I felt like I was experiencing one of Survivor’s ridiculous food auctions. The menu had 2 pages of food and about 6 pages of alcohol to choose from. (MOM: I recommend skipping a couple paragraphs lest your image of me/my “purity” be tainted by some alcoholic escapades)

The Wicky Wacky Woo s in the middle

The good thing about being alcohol-illiterate is that I have no aversion yet to any type of booze, so everything looked equally unappealing. I settled on a Wicky Wacky Woo, partly because of the name, and partly because it contained a mixture of a lot of crap (vodka, gin, rum tequila, some juices). It tasted as good as I expected it to, (meaning it wasn’t really good), but there’s more drinking to discuss! I had a shot of B52 (Baileys is involved, whatever that is) before leaving the restaurant, and we were off to the next bar!

Along the way I’m pretty sure some man commented on my “fat ass”, to which I say, Thanks for noticing!! We arrived at the bar and I had a double shot of some poison gin (will always call gin poison). Around this time we were joined by a local man known by people in the group as “Sexy Monkey.” He has a crazy potty mouth, but he is also responsible for providing the group with this giant graduated cylinder-type tube of beer:

The Beer Tower. 3 of those were consumed.

I’m not sure if I was drunk by the end of the night or I was just tired, but by 1:00 AM I was pretty much donzo. Beer is nasty. I’m just happy that I didn’t have the same reaction as Buffy did after consuming a substantial amount of it:

I don’t think I’ve ever been sadder than I was when I woke up at 7:30 that morning. I dragged myself to Beacon House and silently praised God when I saw that there wasn’t any class that day. I spent a lot of that morning laying on the couch trying to not fall asleep.  I’m glad I didn’t because otherwise I might have missed this question from Ben: “Are there black people at your school?” Do all kids ask questions like this? So ridiculous. Of course my CIEE supervisors pick the day that I did the least amount of work to come check in on me. I was literally sitting on the couch reading while the kids were outside washing their clothes when they arrived. Now they probably think that’s all I do there. Perfect.

Incapacitated.

That afternoon the rain came and it was probably the most torrential storm I’ve ever witnessed. To put it into perspective, the rain was heavy enough for the kids to bath outside in it.  Unfortunately for me, persistent heavy rainfall meant that all the kids were forced to remain indoors.  And scream and jump all over me. Needless to say, I didn’t stay for dinner that night.

Possibly the greatest picture I’ve ever taken.

Saturday marked the first of probably many Solo Ghanaian Adventures to Bojo Beach, supposedly Ghana’s most beautiful beach.  I debated for a while about whether I should do this by myself, but then I realized that my alternative Saturday activities would have probably consisted of reading for class. So many times in my life I’ve used school/work as my scapegoat out of doing something spontaneous and * gasp * fun.  Also, the thought of travelling alone appealed for reasons I’m sure I don’t have explain at this point. Honestly, I do love adventure, probably more than most things. I just need to learn how to carve out some time for it during non-summer months.

I left at about 8:00, and it took 2 tro-tros and a taxi, finally arriving at around 10:15 (travel time skewed due to helpless wandering while looking for the right tro-tro to take).  As soon as I stepped out of the taxi, one of my sandals fell apart. This wasn’t too upsetting; that sandal had been on life support for weeks, and it served me well for 80 days here.

The boat ride to Bojo.

Bojo Beach is pretty much a sandbar on the outskirts of Accra.  On one side there’s a river, which you have to cross by boat to reach the sandbar/ocean. When my feet touched the sand at about 10:30, I was instantly stunned, first when I saw that there was nobody else around, and then by how unbelievably, breathtakingly beautiful the beach was. For starters, it was clean! Granted, my only prior Ghanaian beach experience involved trash everywhere and a man trying to get me to put a snake around my neck, so to see the sand and water refuse-free was wonderful. I left by 2:30, mostly because I didn’t feel like dealing with getting back to campus in the dark with one usable shoe.

Wish I put sunblock on my feet…

As I hobbled around Accra’s Keneshie station, a man saw that I was struggling and led me to a shoe repairman! For $0.25, he fixed my sandal in 2 minutes with some crazy glue and thread.

I really love Ghana sometimes.

My feet and nose may be sunburned now, but I’d say my first solo outing was really successful.  I only have 60 more days here, and there’s so much of Ghana that needs some exploring.  When classes end the first week of November, there will be plenty of time for that, hopefully. I just need to see some elephants again.

I miss seeing these on a daily basis

I’m fairly certain that President Obama is more beloved in Ghana than in the United States, evidenced by this NSFW song/video tribute. WARNING: Strong Sexual Content and possible references to Bestiality are contained in the lyrics:

“Your Nose is Sweating”

It’s getting towards the middle of October, the time of year I love perhaps most of all—for the beautiful Fall foliage, and, most importantly, for the virtually perfect weather/temperature.  There are only a few non-Winter months when I’m not completely disgusting to look at/be around, and October is usually one of those months.  Here in Ghana, October is turning into a fiend. There’s a war being waged against me, with October being the front line of November’s treacherous army. The weapon of choice? Debilitating heat.  I’m definitely probably exaggerating a bit with the use of that word, but anybody who knows me understands that once temperatures rise above approximately 65 77 degrees, my body is no longer capable of keeping me in the semipresentable appearance I strive to maintain. I’ve reached the point of requiring separate morning and afternoon shirts. I knew that this would probably be the case in the months leading up to this experience; Ghana’s basically on the damn equator after all.  I decided that I wouldn’t let my unfortunate sweat glands get in the way of my travels, but when I think about having about 70 more days of these temperatures that will only be getting higher, I just want to hide in a freezer. Or run away to Iceland. In essence: livin’ in this town is like livin’ in the Devil’s butt crack (Credit: April Ludgate).

Anyway, back to the important stuff. This week I learned so much, and by so much I mean so little.  I have so much nonsense I want to share, so I’ll break it down per class.

First, in “Sucks That Y’all Were Born in Ghana,” Bossman gave a shockingly uncritical lecture on globalization. In between, he spewed some wisdom and observations:

• He explained (in detail) how a fax machine works.
• “It used to be that when you received many letters you were a somebody. Today you’re a colonial person if you receive letters.”
• “We are poor because we don’t give enough money.” Uhh…that doesn’t sound like it makes much sense, but..maybe it does. I don’t know.
• “If you can buy the pizza, you have arrived. AMEN, Bossman. Amen.

I haven’t talked about Twi in a while, mostly because it’s probably the one class that I don’t have any issues with.  It’s a combination of the professor being just the cutest older Ghanaian man alive, and the class consisting of people I don’t mostly actively dislike. On Monday, my professor wasn’t around, forcing the class to combine with another, larger class containing some pretty special people.  Needless to say, a combination of there being no air conditioning and the professor being ridiculously dramatic (bellowing things like “KILL THE TEACHA!” when he made a mistake) resulted in some slow-building sass steadily percolating in me. Uh oh! Once he asked the class, “How do you create a Yes/No question in English?” I became slightly concerned that it would burst forth. But then when he mentioned “Fact-Finding Questions” and one college-aged student heard it as “Fuck-Finding” and just had to let everyone know through obnoxious, “embarrassed” laughter, I’m pretty sure my glares were somehow audible. Wait. That was probably just the exasperated sighing. Pocahontas really understands how I felt at that point. What? You want more Pocahontas? Alright, here you go.

Oh, and my Development Studies professor sounded out pornography. Yes. He moaned. It was probably the most shocking/amazing moment of the semester. I love moments when you aren’t sure whether to laugh or cringe, so you uncomfortably do both.

On Tuesday (after my Colonial Rule/African Response TA decided he didn’t feel like showing up), I was supposed to go to the market and practice bargaining in Twi. But, as Sweet Brown likes to say, “Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That!”. So instead I turned Tuesday into a Mental Health Day (I clearly needed one). I read a lot and watched The Silver Linings Playbook, mailed to me by my father, known to most simply as Irwin. The movie is amazing. You should all see it when it’s released in November.

Some order has been restored at Beacon House now that there’s a full-time teacher again, one who’s actually qualified.  She’s going back to the basics, drilling the kids with simple addition/subtraction so they don’t even have to think about what 3+5 or 9-6 is.  I definitely understand the need to do this.  The day I don’t see a couple of the kids struggle with 3+1 will be a beautiful day.  I didn’t do much Thursday morning besides help Zilda “teach” some French.  My contribution was teaching a few of the kids how to draw a star.  I sympathized with them because when I was their age, I really struggled  with that task. Take a look at this drawing of the solar system I made soon after my 7^th birthday:

I only knew how to draw Jewish stars at this point in my life. See? Hebrew School was good for something!

Thursday night I was subjected to most of Aquamarine, a magical movie starring a young Emma Roberts, JoJo, and Sara Paxton, this Reese Witherspoon-like girl but with creepy piranha teeth. JoJo wishes for a miracle that would save her from having to move to Australia (who would complain about that?), and the next morning she and Emma find a mermaid named Aquamarine (Sara) in a pool.  A beautiful friendship is formed, and Aqua tells the girls that she has to prove that love exists within THREE DAYS (uhh..that’s definitely realistic) or she’ll be forced by her father to marry a merman. For whatever reason the girls become obsessed with this surfer/lifeguard, Raymond. The entire movie is basically JoJo/Emma stalking Aquamarine/Raymond as they “fall in love.” A lot of ridiculousness ensues. Here are some highlights:

• “Can you pick things up with them?”—Aqua, about her new feet
• When Aqua transforms into a human girl, she looks at her butt and says “Isn’t it cute?”
• Apparently, girls call boys and hang up on them to get their attention.  Really? Is this true??
•  “Everything we’ve learned about boys have come from the pages of these magazines!”—JoJo or Emma. They had about 100 magazines. Good Lord.
• “The laugh and pass”—casually walk past the boy you like while laughing.
• Raymond buys Aquamarine some cotton candy, and Aqua proceeds to rub it all over her face.
• “I don’t have earrings! How can I not have earrings?!”—Aqua.  Uh…not a big deal, girlfriend.
• “Don’t you just LOVE love?”—Aqua
• “You guys look like the grandma brigade”—some bitch.  Aqua spits her drink onto her in retaliation.
• When Aqua cries, she exclaims, “OH MY GOD! What’s happening to me?? I’m leaking!”
• Raymond and Aqua watch the fireworks separately, gazing longingly at them.

At this point the power mercifully went out, sparing me us from the ending.  I can only assume that Raymond eventually finds out that Aqua’s a mermaid, but decides that he loves her just the way she is.  So romantic.

Ben posing with the chalk-tracing of himself that I did. I’m not responsible for the extra fingers/toes added.

Friday morning began with helping Ben read a short story and answer some questions about it.  The story was about this poor Ghanaian bus driver who gets made fun of by some asshole kids for driving slowly through the towns.  At one point these soccer players are being carried across the street (not really sure why that was happening) as the bus approaches. The people carrying the soccer players fall in the middle of the road but because the driver was going so slowly, nobody was run over.  Now everybody loved the driver. The end.

Before lunch I attempted to play this Uno/Dominos mash-up game with a few of the kids.  I never played Dominos growing up, and the kids didn’t really understand the rules of either, so it was grand old shit show.  But at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Before I left for lunch the kids were shown 3 music videos, and voted on the 2 that they wanted to learn choreography to. One song contains the lyrics “Jesus loves me, yes!” and the other contains “I am a soldier in the army of the Lord.” I really hope I get to be a part of this production. After I put on my sunglasses when I was leaving, one little douche boy asked me if I was a girl. Cause apparently boys can’t wear sunglasses. I really thought my days of being asked that question were over, but I guess the accusation wasn’t too outrageous.

And people are shocked when they hear that I didn’t get along with sister growing up. This is what she made me do. But it looks like I was enjoying it..God.

That afternoon I didn’t do much other than help with practice math questions I made for them.  I really love how much a couple of them love to learn and ask me to give more problems.  I tried getting Prince to write a number, but since he’s 2 (or 3…not really sure) he wrote more on the table than on the paper. Whatever. He’s the cutest so he gets away with everything. It was also around this time when one of the kids told me that my nose was sweating. Thanks, kid. Like I needed that reminder. I left at 6:30, and Mama Irene was surprised that I was leaving so early. The fact that 6:30 is considered an early time for me to leave is precisely why I need to keep leaving around that time.

This baby is perfect. Just a tad messy, though.

Somebody needs to adopt this child. And that somebody should be me.

These past few weeks some people have been saying things to me like “Where have you been?!” as if they actually care.  I really just want to reply with this quote by Amy Poehler/Leslie Knope but I just smile and say, “Oh, ya know. Internship!” It’s true that I’m not around much during the week, and weekends for me are when I do most of my homework.  So Friday night when I was asked to go to a bar, and after learning that the people going weren’t gross, I agreed to join.  I had some nasty beer, then drank this decent cider beverage.  We walked over to this other bar (which I guess means I bar hopped for the first time) where I had a $0.50 shot of some poison gin. This bar instantly became the greatest place in East Legon when we saw there was an air hockey table.  I beat my fradversary Anil in the first game, probably due to a combination of his intoxication and shock that I was so aggressive. I might have been slightly tipsy myself because I couldn’t stop laughing and standing for long periods of time was becoming problematic.  He beat me in a rematch 7-5. The bastard. All in all, it was a really fun night. Going to bars with people you don’t dislike isn’t so bad, I suppose.  I’m secretly hoping to have a night that devolves into this:

I’m sure you can guess who I relate to the most.

This weekend has been spent researching Ghanaian media for a group presentation that I decided should finally be thought about, and studying for an upcoming Twi test.  On Saturday I saw that I only had $5.00, and after going to about 8 ATMs on campus that weren’t working, I decided to spend that money on 25 hours of Wi-Fi rather than save it for food. Priorities. I found $0.15 that I used to go to the mall to use the ATMs there.  After running away from avoiding some begging children outside the mall, I was accosted by a man who asked me for “a favor” while I was at the ATM.  As I was withdrawing $50.00 I glared at him and said, “I don’t have any money to give you!” and stormed away.  I don’t know when I became so evil, but it was probably around the time that I ran out of fucks to give. I purchased a book, Beyond the Horizon, to read after I soon finish East of Eden.  I was going to read The Hobbit next, but decided that I should probably read some African literature while I’m here. Also, wandering pathetically through supermarkets is something I really need to stop doing, but I walked away with some iced tea and these potato chips that I used to buy once a week when I was in Botswana. Nostalgic food purchases are the best kind of food purchases.

Alright, that’s all for this week! Apparently I write more during weeks when not much happens, which means this entire post is probably useless. Oh well. At least my father will enjoy it.

Have a wonderful week!

My roommate  watched this magical movie called The Encounter on TV tonight and I thought I’d share the trailer for it. Spoiler Alert! The Encounter is with Jesus.

If that trailer peaked your interest, which I just can’t imagine not happening, the entire movie can be seen here! You’re welcome.

“Is That Your Giraffe?”

The fact that skipping my Colonial Rule/African Response discussion class was the highlight of this week’s academic experience is a good indication of my attitude towards the University of Ghana’s learning environment.  It’s just not very good. That being said, we did have an useless engaging discussion on reggae music and the Rastafari movement in Jamaica during Wednesday’s lecture. Also, in my “Sucks That Y’all Were Born in Ghana!” class, Bossman asked the class what the difference between the United Kingdom and Britain is, and one student confidently replied, “The UK is bigger!,” while another added emphatically, “Britain is England!”. Well, at least classes are never short on laughter! What are the classes short on? Relevancy.

Beacon House this week was incredibly different.  Without Katie or Rachel, the girls who had been there every day for a month to teach, there was a noticeable atmosphere change. Things seemed more hushed and even somber when I arrived Tuesday afternoon.   I was still greeted with more enthusiasm than I usually am; the kids were probably excited to see that at least one person hasn’t abandoned them yet.  It was obvious that the attention given to them had precipitously dropped, and unfortunately luckily for me, that meant I got to be everybody’s sole entertainment provider.  This has especially been the case with the younger, pre-school-aged kids who were previously given constant attention by Katie.   While I didn’t do much on Tuesday, I did get to play with Prince (aka my favorite kid of all time), and take this picture with him, which instantly became my favorite ever:

I apparently appear super skinny here. I say my arm is just strategically covering where most of the fat is.

Other than that, I just watched Daddy Day Care with them, yet another movie that I loved when I was 10 but failed to see the appeal in today.  Maybe it’s because many of the scenes felt too familiar.

Thursday was probably the most challenging day yet for me at Beacon House, despite the wonderful fact that I completed my 135 required hours that day (CIEE record? Probably).  The kids hadn’t had class since last week, and nobody I asked knew when the long-term teachers would be arriving.  When I arrived that morning and saw that the kids were just running around/playing, I had to make the decision to either do nothing and hope a teacher comes soon, or put on my big boy panties and create work for them to do myself.

What happens when an infant gets his hands on the homework I provided

The thought of them regressing, forgetting what they’ve learned and losing any progress made the month I’ve been there was unacceptable to me.  I am in no way qualified to teach and I’m not really known for my ability to rise to any occasion, but I surprised myself this week.  It helps when these kids are so eager to learn; they came to me asking for work. I mean, I was pretty enthusiastic about learning when I was 10, but I was one of the losers exceptions.  It’s really nice to see here.

Before the kids could work on the practice questions I created, a FRENCH TEACHER (Zilda!) arrived to work with them for 45 minutes.  My initial excitement over this development  soon diminished when I realized how much of the French I learned over the past 2 years has been forgotten. Next semester should be hilarious.  I’m also concerned that there isn’t any use for Zilda’s lessons; these kids are still learning how to read/write English (why they’re learning English and not Twi at least in conjunction is an issue I don’t feel like ranting about now), so I can’t really see how attempting to learn French is of any benefit to them.

Later that afternoon, after lunch and after my failed attempt at buying some pencils for the kids to use for their practice questions (the store had pens and damned compasses, but no pencils?!), something wonderful happened.  A beautiful, bright, shining beacon (pun intended) of hope appeared to quell my fears of being responsible for the education of these kids long-term: Heather, Beacon House’s co-founder and licensed teacher! Almost cried.  She didn’t stay long that day, so that meant I still had to help the kids alone with the work I made for them, but things went smoothly enough. It’s just hard when everybody’s at a different level and wants my attention at the same time.  I’m used to people wanting my attention never, so it’s understandably overwhelming.

Other Thursday Highlights/Quotes:

• Romeo (the dog), mounted one of the children. I was frozen in shock.
• “Is Santa in America?”
• “Does the President of the America sleep?”
• “On Christmas, if he’s (Obama’s) bad, he get’s a bad gift.” What’s the bad gift? I asked. Coal? “No. Only water.”
• “I like your head!” (seconds later) “I like your ears!”

It was another long day at Beacon House on Friday.  That morning I helped Heather and the kids start to clean/organize the classroom. Heather has the cleaning ethic of my mother, meaning there can be nothing out of place and anything potentially unimportant needs to be thrown away.  Immediately. I helped create ‘Good Behavior’ charts, something I always loved growing up. I was shockingly obnoxious during elementary school (can you imagine me being labeled consistently as the “Class Clown?” I can’t either.), but always looked to get some Gold Stars, especially if food rewards were involved. I was the French Fry King of East Broadway Class of 2003, evidenced by my…healthy girth appearance:

So. Fat. But at least I look happy about it!

Heather’s 10 year old son, Jayden (Jaedan? Eh. Britney Spears picked “Jayden,” and I haven’t seen any reason to doubt her choices) was also there.  He’s a cute and somewhat insane kid, which means he fits in well with the others.  Having another white boy there who is actually their age meant the kids paid less attention to me, which I wasn’t about to complain about. Let Jayden get chased around all day while I sit and roll a ball with Prince or help build some puzzles.

So sad when he didn’t even know what Winnie the Pooh is

Somebody knows he’s not supposed to be in there.

My other Friday experience involved interviewing two young mothers for the blog who live and work at the orphanage. I’m still a bit skeptical that they’re 18 and 19, and unsurprisingly not much was revealed (my interviewing skills are nonexistent). Of course I couldn’t make it through the interviews without something uncomfortable happening during one of them: Breast feeding.  This might come as a surprise to none some of you, but I haven’t been exposed to any many breasts, let alone ones with a baby latched on.

Other Friday Quotes:

• “Do you have a mother? Do you have a father? Do you have a poopoo?”
• “How are you? (without waiting for a response) I’m fine!”
  • Prince said this. He doesn’t know much English, but whenever he says something like this it’s the cutest. Ever.
  • “Is that your giraffe?” No. “Is that your dad’s giraffe?” NO!!
    

    My father and I with “our” giraffe at Busch Gardens

Saturday was CIEE Community Service day! About half of us (the other half had better things to do were traveling, or intentionally accidentally overslept) went to Future Leaders, an underprivileged children’s center that provides education for at-risk kids and houses orphans.  Admittedly, I contemplated skipping the trip because leaving at 7:00 AM seemed really unappealing, but thankfully I haven’t reached the level of asshole required to use that as an excuse.

It was a long but really productive day of manual labor; we helped build

I wish you could see the airplane painted next to the elephant that’s seemingly flying down towards his face.

a classroom and painted a lot of the walls that needed some revitalizing.  After sanding and painting moldy walls for a while, I helped drag carry some wooden planks over to be cut and made into the walls of the new classroom.  Things became comical as many of us attempted to use a handsaw to cut the wood. I’m sure you can guess how well I did with that.  My particular skillset isn’t really suitable for anything construction, but hey! At least no bodily harm was done! That’s all that matters. We got to paint designs on the walls of the classroom, and I helped fingerpaint an elephant that my friend sketched.

By the time we finished working at around 3:00, it’s possible that I was the grossest I’ve ever looked.  My hands were covered in paint and turpentine, but that didn’t stop me from devouring the pizza that was provided.

Week 9 in Ghana has come and gone unnaturally fast.  I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that there is only one more month of classes. I don’t want to think about having to choose next semester’s courses in a few weeks or going home at all, really. Life in DC is hard, and is stressful.  There never seems to be enough time in a day or week to do the things I need to do, and I find myself struggling through one moment just to make it to the next one. Time here is…different. Things are slower, calmer.  The people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had…I just feel that my life here is filled with purpose, something I’m not sure I’ve felt in a long time back home.  I feel warm.  I feel like a better me.

Alrighty! Again, thank you for continuing to read this! If you’re insane and haven’t listened to Adele’s James Bond theme song, today’s your lucky day!