Cigarettes

It was about 12:30 am when I finally settled into my pillow. I wanted to try to rest this night. The Professor’s dogs broke the silence with their frantic barking and growling. Then, I heard another neighbor’s dog join in. I lay still; so that, I would be able to listen attentively. Something began to move outside the window near my head. Again, it moved. My heart leapt, not like Peter Pan, but like Poe would describe it. I found my phone under my pillow and tried to call the Prof. No Answer. She had turned her phone off. I tried to call her friend Phillip, again, no answer. The rash that had covered my body for days, become bothersome. I tried to remain calm. There were audible footsteps and the pungent smell of cigarettes swept into the room. I wasn’t dreaming. I’ve always had a keen sense of smell, and cigarette smoke is easy to detect. I crawled out of my mosquito net. I was dripping with perspiration. My body began to shake; I started to tell myself to stay calm. I knew that I had to think clearly and be ready for anything. I also knew that those hunting men had seen me, a white girl with a camera and money as an easy target. In the darkness of the jungle, beneath the roof, on all fours, I made my way to my backpack found my pliers/knife, my large can of bug spray (the kind that sprays a longer distance), and my headlamp. Then, I made my way over to the front door where I locked the bottom bolt. Again, I heard someone walking around outside. Under my breath, I started praying that God would watch over me and keep me safe. I prayed this for the next five hours. I tightened my Chacos to my feet and sat against the wall where if the door were to swing open I would be hidden behind it. The house was surrounded by windows. Even the front door had to two large glass windows. I held the pliers to my chest, the bug spray rested in my other hand, and the headlamp strapped on like Pocahontas. I thought that if a hand reached in through a broken window I could ply it, spray the eyes with bug spray, and make every noise imaginable. If I couldn’t do that, I would take the headlamp turn it on, swing it around on its elastic headband and play the part of the evil spirit while making a racket. I had to have a plan of action.
I could hear the ticking of my watch. In some ways, it was comforting. My mom had loaned me her watch before we exchanged goodbyes at the airport. It was a constant tick that made me think of her heartbeat or something soothing. Anyways, I was doing my best to remain aware. Something started carving at the window across from me. In all my terror, I started barking like a huge dog. Let me explain my reasoning here… Ghanaians are frightened by dogs. Dogs don’t run around Ghana. Dogs are eaten in Ghana. So, dogs are not commonly seen in Ghana. The Ghanaians are more afraid of dogs than the crocodiles that they play with. They are even afraid of the smallest of the species. As soon as I started barking, the scraping stopped. Whoever was out there had moved around, then started at the window again. Then, there was movement and scraping at the eves. I barked again. This entire time, I was breathing heavily, sweating uncontrollably, and preparing for the worst. After the second barking, I could hear the footsteps leave the premises. This all took place between 1 am and 2 am. The time seemed to pass in infinite terms. I couldn’t wait for the light of the sun to brush my windows, nor could I wait for someone to hold me and comfort me. Maybe, I was that child the Professor saw the day before. I didn’t mind that at all. I figured, I’d rather be a child who can sense good and evil than one who is calloused. As soon as the sun revealed itself, I started packing my things. I didn’t want to be in a place that was so risky. Capturing great photos of the tribe in the north became the least of my priorities. Besides, the Prof. revealed to me just how little she had spent preparing for that endeavor, and that she really had no project planned. Why she chose not to share this information with me until I arrived for the job will remain a mystery. The earliest flight home was my new focus. As soon as it felt reasonable to greet the Prof., I made my way to inform her of my decision. Her response to my desire was less than kind. “Didn’t you know that you can’t fly home any day that you like? There aren’t flights every day. Your medicine was probably just bothering you. There wouldn’t be anyone in this yard that should concern you.” I felt stupid, and I stared back at her with every inch of my being thankful that she was not my mother! I hadn’t made the story up! I had seen the hunters next door, people in and out of the neighbor’s house, smelled the cigarette stench, and heard the footsteps. I also know that a fence that stands three feet in the air will not ward off an intruder. The house where I laid down to sleep that night was a likely site for a crime scene. http://www.info-ghana.com/crime_in_ghana.htm I rode to the university with the Prof., she invited me to one of her classes, but I declined and headed straight for the internet café to make my arrangements. I knew that I must get home. With my flight info in hand, I called my best friend and my plans were changed to the following Tuesday. When I arrived back at the school, I heard that there was a foreign exchange group from North Carolina that was going on a school led outing to Kumasi (a large city in the Central Region). They were leaving the next day and returning on Sunday night. I made plans to join them. That night, I slept in the house of the Prof., woke early, and prepared myself for a new and exciting journey. I forgot to tell the Prof. that I had smelled the tobacco, but I don’t think that she would have believed me anyways. Being able to smell is a blessing.