The Ride

On Tuesday, March 17, 2009 I wrote this:

What a long night, and I’m sorry to drag you through it. It was a horrifying experience. I will briefly describe it here. Sorry, I couldn’t tell you more last night. Last night, David a friend of the Prof. came to pick us up to go to dinner. Now, keep in mind this was around 6 pm. David, a gangly, giraffe like figure with sharp chin and nose, aged 49 who has smoked for 40 of those years and has had 40 cigarettes on a daily basis was the David who came to get us. David is British and wild. His veins protrude like tape worms on his extra thin (maybe 110 lbs. at 6 feet tall) body. When he speaks, he rasps, and one can barely understand his rasps. He is a friendly guy, though. I rode in the back of his racecar yellow, tin cup car. I reluctantly climbed in and sat with a door that didn’t open from the inside, and a window that wouldn’t roll down. I was nervous at the start. This car was literally the smallest car that I have been prey to. The stench coming from the back seat glued itself to my nostrils and my clothing within moments of contact. The fresh smell of dog urine came to rest where I sat, and David’s highly stifling cigarette fumes replaced any clean air that may have been about me. There were unidentifiable photos taped to the ceiling interior. It was soon dark and the drive was long, scary, and I felt my heart was left back in the driveway. I was suffocating with the heat and smells. On top of that, I felt as if at any moment we would come crashing into a large truck and fly into flames. All along the dirt highway were the charred carcasses of vehicles that had blown up upon contact. The cars here drive about 80 mph, passing each other and missing head on collisions by just a few feet. Keep in mind that all along the highways are large potholes and swarms of people filed like ants and going about their business with no worry of being struck. We flew around corners in the thick dark air like Cruella De Ville minus the nice car. We ate, I had fish that was rotten; so, I stopped eating. My stomach churned for the next 6 hours. After dinner, we went for a dessert in a fishing town called Elmina. I just listened. The conversation was focused on how Mr. David needed to get his money out of the country without being caught. He also mentioned that he needed to see a doctor in England about his throat, pick up a new car from Germany or Italy, and then make his way back to Ghana to care for his dogs. In Elmina, the air didn’t stir; the stench of human waste was wafting about me. I was nauseous to say the least. Upon returning, the Professor told me how pleasant David had been and that his usual demeanor is quite hostile. Thanking God that I was alive as I stepped foot on my porch that midnight was a serious moment. I unlocked the front door, scrambled in and tried to breath. My throat was closing, but I was determined not to fall into a breathing dilemma. I went in to the wash room and splashed myself with water. I was sick. I talked out loud to myself and tried to stay calm. I just wanted to feel any bit of safety. What if I couldn’t breathe? I prayed some more. I wanted to feel safe. I had to make some plans. I’m sorry for the scare. I was really frightened. Love, Abigail

Saturday, March 24th

In my journal I wrote this:
Car accidents are very common with fatalities most definite. The hospital here is sickening and the care is archaic. All I know about the health care is that I don’t want to have to use it. People die from things that they shouldn’t have to die for. I attended a funeral of a boy today who came to visit his family and in his second week of visitation, he was in a car accident and was killed. They said that he broke some bones and died while in the hospital. I don’t feel like I can really trust anyone here. Even the Prof. continues to reveal herself in a deceitful manner. I feel like this trip is going to have other purposes (apart from photos) and that I will learn a lot. Because of the color of my skin, I stick out like a sore thumb. I wish that I could disappear. Honestly, I hope that I make it home alive. With such carelessness, it feels like life isn’t worth much to these people. Maybe, part of the reason that they don’t attach to each other like we do is because those closest to them die so often. I’m trying to be patient and see the best in this, and I’m praying for wisdom. I feel like there is a reason for this experience, but it may be a tough lesson. Who knows?

Minus the Romance

I learned that Ghanaian men and women don’t kiss. Romance doesn’t seem to exist. Men and women have very little to do with one another. Sex is not worth much. The Prof. told me that the female university students trade sex for good grades/ possessions/ or a small fee. Women are treated very poorly and are usually in charge of most of the work that is carried out in the society. The education here is infiltrated with cheating and bribing. I was asked to help a guy named Kwesi edit a paper for school. The previous day, I had asked him what he was studying in school. He told me that he was going to school for mechanical engineering. I then asked him what he was learning and what mechanical engineering was all about (I knew what it was, but I wanted to hear his answer). No answer was given. He did not know what he was studying or why. So, this day he needed help printing out a 40 plus page paper, and he told me that he needed me to remove the page numbers. I proceeded to ask him what the paper was about, what part his group did, and why he couldn’t remove the page numbers that he had placed on the pages. He had no answers. I told him that I knew how to remove the page numbers and print it out, but that I wouldn’t play a role in his scheme of lies. He was very upset with me. They learn so little in school because of this kind of tactic. I am so blessed to be a citizen of the U.S.A.

Where were my feet planted?

Almost as soon as I stepped foot onto the Ghanaian coast, I questioned my intentions for being there. Each of us has an inner defense mechanism that warns us of danger and pushes us to find a route of escape. At first, I solely wanted to share my joyous experiences and leave out the terrifying ones. Since then, I’ve changed my mind, and I’d like you to join me in all parts of the trip. When I arrived in Ankaful village where the professor has her residence, I phoned my mom and let her know that I had arrived safely. At this time, I didn’t speak long, because I didn’t want her to know that I was unsure and afraid. I wanted to wait on my feelings and try to get a handle of the newness of this land. I spent the first full day at the Professors guest house just gathering my thoughts, making plans for the photo projects, and organizing my belongings.
Late in the afternoon, the Prof. asked me to join her for lunch at a restaurant on the beach known as Mable’s Table. I ordered fish and potatoes. While we waited for our food, Prof. told me about the people of Ghana. Disease and death are a normal part of life she said. There is a funeral literally every weekend and at every church. It’s their common social gathering/ their weekly party. That is a great number of deaths, because there are so many churches. Religion is such a huge part of life. The Prof. would say that it is their life, but it is a surface religion. Everyone is a believer in a god and every belief is a mix of superstition, and voodoo always tags along. She also said that they hadn’t internalized the morals of any religion. There was no right or wrong in this land, things happened because the gods or spirits wanted them to happen in such a way. I mentioned earlier that they shared no understanding of the cause and effect principle. Anything that took place didn’t have reason for its occurrence. For example, If I hit you with my car and killed you, it would be no one’s fault, it was just your time to die. No one would question the outcome or wonder why things happened the way they did. Things just happen. People die, women are raped, and children become ill. No one is responsible for their actions and everyone is forgiven. It is part of their culture. It is always someone else’s fault. They might say that there is no reason for the way things happen, there is no moral truth, and no right or wrong. This philosophy of life blew me away. The suffering, chaos, and unpredictability of life here made sense when I was told how their system worked. This provided an easy route for crime because there would be no real justice served, and it would be no one’s fault. I recently read that if a woman is raped she has to pay between $100 and $250 to have a form signed that records her attack. That is a very large sum of money in Ghana. Many people will make only $5 a month. So, they say that less than half of these crimes are reported. Also, if a woman is raped, it is likely that he husband will never take her back. She will likely be physically damaged and never have a way to recover. If you would like the article about this, let me know. All to say, there is little or no punishment for wrong doing. I had always heard that Ghana was a semi-safe place. After learning that most crime is never reported, my feelings of uncertainty were validated by the facts. I had eaten as much as I could. The fish that they brought was huge. I couldn’t eat half of it, but the waitress said that she would. When the Prof. had finished, she made it clear to me that Ghana was a safe place. At this moment, I knew that I didn’t trust her. No place was safe where this kind of activity was permitted. I felt strangely alone, frightened, and tired. I wanted to work through my feelings, and I wanted to be able to trust someone. I didn’t want to play the part of a wimpy girl, but I knew that I didn’t like the feelings associated with where my feet were planted.

No Place Like Home

Spring has come. The daffodils are emerging from my mother’s flowerbeds. I must say that I am truly blessed to be a part of such a loving family. As Dorothy would say, “There is no place like home.” Yes, I am at home. This morning I fell asleep on a bed of clean sheets and thick covers. Being so used to the heat, the 50 degree air felt chilly; so I slept under a mound of blankets. I woke this afternoon at lunchtime. The journey home took 42 hours. I’ll write more about the journey later. Mom greeted me at the airport at around midnight on Wednesday. We were both relieved to be in each other’s company. She immediately told me how happy she was to have me back. She had packed a brown paper bag with my clean blanket (one that my grandma Carey knit that I have slept with nearly every night since birth), some fruit, some homemade yogurt, and a napkin. There is no way to fully describe how happy I was to be with my mom and to be safe. I was exhausted, and I expected to have a quiet trip home from the airport. Instead, I made myself hoarse as a tried to describe my two weeks in Africa. I’m going to recount my experience in Ghana, but just a little at a time. I’ve been very emotional. It’s difficult to express the feelings that go along with my days in Ghana. For now, I will just let you know that I am home, that I am safe, and that I am thankful.

Calling for recipes

I'm looking for recipes... specifically those that use any of the following:
beans, rice, oil, potatoes, bananas, oranges, pineapple, limes, lemons, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, oats, onions, garlic, curry, corn flour, fish, carrots, or raisins.

Thanks for your help (email is best)

A day to relax

I decided that I would stay here at the house today while the Prof. goes to school. It’s nice to have some space and time to write, organize thoughts/photos for the project. Maybe, I will do a photo book on beautiful faces, and one on schooling. Just pictures, mostly. The electricity is off right now, so this message may be shorter today. The water tastes like Iodine. It doesn’t bother me at all. I’m listening to music right now. It’s a nice change. I had oatmeal for breakfast.

The power came back on. There is a guy in his upper 20’s here named Robert. He calls me Madam, sweeps the porch on the front of where I am staying, takes my trash out, and he brought me 20+ bananas yesterday morning as a welcoming gift (that is a great gift considering he is very poor). He is very sweet. His teeth are jumbled in his mouth and his job is working here for Nancy. I know that he has to work, but I would love to just read with him or chat with him. Maybe, I’ll have the opportunity after he finishes. I feel like a British colonist living here with Nancy and her servants. Yuck! I’m glad that they like people from other countries, but I wish that they could see me as an equal rather than some god-send. I gave Robert some of the stickers and some starburst.

The other day when I was in the market, we went to the butcher's house. Nancy was buying some bones to give to her dogs. They were chopping away at a goat or some animal, the blood and guts were flying and landing all over me. It was an experience. .

The best part about being here... kids

It’s now Sunday night, and I am back in the exact same place that I was while I typed last night. This morning I had an avocado, a banana, and some pineapple for breakfast, a hotdog/sausage thing (yucky) for lunch and some vegetables for dinner.
This morning I went to a Catholic Church service with Nancy in a local village. I couldn’t understand the English part of the service nor the Fante of course. It was probably in the upper 90’s and the service lasted nearly 3 hours even after having arrived late. After church, the choir gave Nancy a special concert outside under a tree. Next I got to play with the kids which is the best part about being here. I got to see one of the better schools in the area and it’s pretty simple. There is no way that these kids could use a laptop or have the need for one. They don't have the basic infrastructure to make it feasable. Electricity isn’t reliable, there would be no place to fix the computer if they didn’t work right, and the environment would kill a computer. The kids are great! They held my hands, hair, and clothes, and followed me everywhere with beaming faces always ready for a picture. I like playing with them, but I don’t like being viewed as royalty or a goddess around them. It makes me terribly uncomfortable.
After playing with the church kids, we came back to the house and got ready to visit Susan a Scottish friend of Nancy’s who runs a resort on the beach near Accra. We drove about 40 min East to the chalet and found Susan. Before we left, I put my brown suit on for swimming but when I looked in the mirror, I noticed that the material was all saggy. The elastic in the fabric is shot… it is only 2 or 3 months old. How strange? I am glad that I brought two with me.

Arriving in Accra

I’m here in Cape Coast, Ghana. It’s nearing 9:30 pm and I am praying that my battery will last long enough for me to share my thoughts. Thankfully, I found a way to charge my computer battery, but only on occasion. I arrived here two days ago at around 7:30 pm. My flights were very comfortable, and I slept like a baby. It took nearly 2 hours to get through the lines of entrance into the country. My bags came after waiting patiently and imagining that they were fine, even though those around me were frazzled thinking about their lost luggage. Once I exited the airport, I had to wait. The air was suffocating and I was dripping with sweat. I had made up my mind that I would not panic. I would pretend that I wasn’t alone and that I had some idea about where I was. Inside, I was nervous. What if this was a joke and there was no professor meeting me at the airport in this humid night? After thirty minutes of concentrated looking and praying for a guide, a short thin smiling African poked his head around my body and said, “Are you Abigail?” Very relieved and fully confident in myself, I said, yes. Amidst the crowd, the professor and her two small poodle-like dogs rushed to greet me. It was a three hour van ride to the house of the professor. It’s a very nice place to stay.

I am staying in a small guest house next to Nancy’s house. It’s tidy and a great place to escape from everything. I can’t be more thankful for this. It also has a private bath with a shower. It’s beautiful here on the grounds around her home. I’m literally in the jungle/tropics. There are lizards/snakes/spiders, and the most beautiful birds. At night I hear frogs, and so many other strange animal sounds. It’s fun to listen. I’ve been sleeping well. I’ve been taking my B-vitamins and lathering my body in Skin So Soft oil to avoid the mosquitoes. I only have one bite so far. The first morning, I woke early to a thick fog that enveloped the trees. It may have been the most beautiful forest that I have laid eyes on. For breakfast I had coconut milk, mango, and a banana.

The coastline is breath taking, but loaded with trash and poverty. Compared to China, China is clean. I really can’t believe what the people eat. Rice , stew, and coke… It’s difficult to imagine how their bodies feel. One man thought that cane sugar was good and healthy to eat. It’s been interesting to watch the people move about or sleep at their tasks. They sit most of the day and it’s hard for me to sit and wait around. I guess they are just tired more often because they don’t eat well. The professor says that they don’t think about the past or the future. So, no saving money and the ‘cause and effect’ understanding doesn’t make much sense to them. It’s very odd to say the least. It rained all night last night. It was great to sleep to.

Margaret Hamminga

M. Hamminga and I sat chatting for the first hour of the flight. She reminded me of the elderly lady who cares for the animals from Disney's, The Fox and the Hound. She was very joyful and happy to converse. When I first laid eyes on her, I noticed that she had pretty white leather loafers on. Now in her eightieth year, she could barely see, but she could still move around pretty well. It seemed that everything about her was pretty. We both slept about 7 hours out of the 9.5 hour long flight. When we woke to the loud stewardess' scrambling down the aisles, Margaret leaned over and handed me a small piece of scrap paper with her scribbled address on it, and in her thick Dutch accent, she said, "You are always welcome in the Nedderlands." I certainly felt welcomed. I responded with, "Margaret, don't be surprised if you see me at your doorstep in the near future."

Houston with no problem!

Hello from Texas. I'm about to board a plane for Amsterdam, and then the last leg will take me straight to Accra, the capital of Ghana. Happy Wednesday!