sitting in the kitchen

I’m currently sitting in the kitchen at our house in Woe, typing this e-mail. (I‘ve been advised by previous volunteers to write e-mails on a reliable computer, and transfer them by disk when I get to the internet café. A dial-up connection in a developing country isn‘t necessarily the most reliable.) J It has been about two weeks, and after a four hour tro-tro ride, and 12,000 cedi I will finally be able to access the internet.

This is the first day I think it will actually rain. It was overcast when I woke up this morning, but the clouds have gradually darkened in the past few hours. It’s probably mid 80’s and absolutely beautiful. I’m not cold yet, but I could be in a sweater and quite content. The day-guard here is sitting just outside, humming loudly while trimming his nose hair with a full pair of scissors. I don’t think he’s humming anything in particular, but his range changes as he tips his head for a different angle.

The CCS house is about a ½ mile from the beach, so we have constant breezes cooling off the day. There are currently 10 volunteers, and a staff just shy of that. We live in the largest house on the block, occupying only the yard and the first floor. The second is still vacant, and has the comfort of a barn loft. It just started to rain. The thatch and sand take it like it’s nothing, but the aluminum roof chimes with how much is coming down.

I’m wondering now if we’ll still take the tro-tro to Ho if it’s raining. Coming in from Accra the first night, I thought if a tro-tro drove in anything less than perfect conditions, they would never make it. A tro-tro: imagine an old 1980’s 12-seater van, boxy, clunky. Now, completely strip it down--no upholstery, no window cranks, sometimes no windows. Unbolt the existing seats, and move them all back. Add another seat, a free standing bench, and individual seats that fold down from the end of each row. Most things are crudely welded together, and if you’re lucky, there are no rust holes open to the road. If you saw a tro-tro in the states, it would look worse than most of the cars that are up on blocks. You abandon safety just by looking at them, but with just a spit of petrol, you’re up and running with 20+ of your closest friends. Last market day I was in one with 25 other people and their goods. The van door couldn’t close… people were out windows. I never though I could sit for that long on so little of one butt cheek, but it is possible. And evidently, it’s possible all the way to Accra and beyond. They like to put the Yevwos (white person) up front, although every tro-tro I’ve ever seen abandoned is smashed head on, so I keep bidding for the back.

My first week here, I was placed with a group from the American-Jewish World Organization helping to build a school a village over. Over the past three weeks, they had done everything from packing the foundation to casting the bricks they needed to build. By the time I came in, they were moving sand in from a pit 1/3 mile away, packing it down to establish the floors. On my first day, I was given a head pan and shown the way. By 10.30A I had a bruise the size of a saucer on top of my head, and I could swear I was at least an inch shorter. I used my handy-dandy hat (that I thought would be for shade) to hold on to the small foam square I was given, and was very grateful. Only two shovels-full at a time, but walking through loose sand in the humid day is tiring. Unbelievably slow. The school children would help us for a few hours each morning, and there were two community-labor days where the village came. Just when I thought I was getting comfortable with the head-pan, a 6-year old and a woman in her late 50’s would pass me with loads significantly larger than mine. By the end of the week, my bruise had subsided a bit (J), and we’d filled three classrooms (15’ x 15’ x 2’ish).

My placement started this week, and I’m glad that I have five months to work. Woe is about 3 miles wide, and 1 mile from the lagoon to the ocean. Most of it is farm-land or undeveloped, with small clusters of mini-villages throughout. Most of the villagers are either farmers or fisherman, which is reflected in the community. $1 = 8,000 cedi. The local fisherman, after pulling a net cast 3-4 times a day with 25-100 others (depending on the net size) will earn about 2,000 cedi a day. Farmers make a little more than that, but their worth is primarily in land ownership. The village is made up of block buildings (mostly owned by farmers or net owners) and those made from local materials. Palm frawns are woven for walls, fences, and roofs. They are stripped, and the ribbing is used for structural support. I will go next week and the week after to learn how to weave and thatch. The man who’s children will be teaching me is also a net owner, and although he laughed at me, he will get me onto a fishing line. (He also told me that starting in November, the sea turtles start to come ashore and lay their eggs. By December some will start to hatch and have to work their way back into the sea.) It’s funny, I know I’m here. I can see everything around me, and still, some things still seem like a part of my own imagination.

I will try and set up a photo page through my yahoo account, but it will depend on my ability to transfer the files. I’ll try and send update e-mails as often as I can. Ghana is about the size of Oregon, but with road conditions and tro-tros, it can take over 24 hours to drive through. Ho is only a few hours away, but the trip can range from 3 hours to 8 or nine.

I didn’t do such a hot job of getting all of my mailing addresses together before I left, so if you could e-mail or snail mail them that would be great. I have letters and envelopes ready. (I paid 30,000 cedi for a group of 10... 15,000 more and I could pay for an Xray at the hospital.) It’s unbelievable.

I love you all. Thank you again for your support and encouragement in making this happen.