Village life, like just about everything else, is a bizarre admixture of the mundane and the sublime. Life in Abrafo is no exception.

I have been in my house a little over three weeks and I must admit that I’m truly sorry about whatever horrible offenses I committed in my past lives that involved tyrannical loud music (anyone remember my old nemesis, neighbor Wayne??). Whatever I did must have been unforgivable, I'm glad that I can't remember.

In Abrafo, about 100 yards from my house is a 20 foot bamboo pole that sports four loudspeakers, pointing in the four cardinal directions. It blasts to life around 4:30ish a.m. every day, remains on-or-off throughout the day and generally concludes after 9:30 p.m. A drunk-sounding guy talks in Twi (the local dialect), he plays a mixed format FM radio station out of Cape Coast and then adds his personal musical favorites as time allows. Often he sings. In addition, he makes community announcements or so the local kids tell me; such as when your money, “has gone missing”. (GONE MISSING??—are you kidding, the money is never coming back!!). But, I’m thinking that the speakers should “go missing.” A gun has never seemed so tantalizing. Don’t worry, but the fantasy is worth every second.

So, the dumb thing permeates my house and my brain. The volume is louder than someone shouting in my house. I’ve tried various kinds of earplugs, nothing really works, and there is no relief. I’m not sleeping well and so this is serious. This is another insanity to endure in GOG (good ol’ Ghana). Since I go to the Park most days, I manage to have some peace, but the evenings and mornings are pure hell. Reading is not an option and talking is difficult too. I politely voiced my complaint, but whiskey-breath didn’t appear too interested. I really don’t know how I’m going to deal with this one. Today the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) visited my place and suggested I go immediately to the police since disturbances are “against the law.” Evidently there is another PCV currently in court over a similar issue.

Sorry, if this sounds like whining—it is. I expected difficulties and challenges, just not this particular issue. For balance, I know I’m blessed in a million ways. I see it every day. In fact, I can’t look beyond A19’s walls without recognizing my opulence and privilege. Regardless, I still need some comfort and calm in my home and creating that evidently will be the next challenge. Peace, I need solace at home.

The local NGO boys think I’m deranged and they’ve been no help, although they admit that the noise is a problem at the park, a full kilometer away????

Before contacting the local gendarmes, I will inform the Abrafo chiefs of my intent. Currently Abrafo has an “acting” chief (yes….) and legions of subchiefts. Here, proper information dissemination is critical for the success of any endeavor and I don’t want to move forward only to discover that I’ve forgotten a chief, big man, MP, District Assembly Rep, or anyone in the endless chain of command. The etiquette of information, yes, it is dizzying. At the moment, my attitude is ok, but I loop-de-loop throughout the day and I get out of bed cursing most days—that’s ugly.

Relatively speaking, all else is progressing nicely in my world—home, neighbors, work and new friends in Ghana. The house is basically outfitted, although I’m still waiting for some furniture to appear--the clothing shelves, a bench and a kitchen work table. Curtains are up and the furniture grouped.

From my porch I can see coconut palm trees, the top of the local Catholic Church, a school yard on the hill to the south, some open space and many houses. Everyday I see countless people walking by or nearby, as well as dogs, cats, chickens, goats and sheep. Barn shallows dive past by place during the day and bats squeak at night. I’ve started to draw the wild insects that appear around my place—they are otherworldly. Did I mention my dog?? I’m now a mother. My little darlin’ is mostly white with caramel colored ears. I named her Wyoming. She is really small, more cat-sized than dog-sized. She follows me around and bites my toes. I feel happy about my quadruped.

What else? Last week I bought a shovel and soon I’ll start moving dirt around for the garden. By the way, getting a shovel from Cape Coast to Abrafo on a tro-tro was a trial, but nothing when compared to moving goats, chickens and stalks of plantains, which are somewhere on nearly every tro-tro on tires here. Really a shovel is nothing, but I felt both conspicuous and normal.

Of course I’m disciplined and I trot off to the park nearly everyday. Mostly I hang around--watching how people use the park, the space—people watching. I lurk, isn’t that a wonderful word, around the gift shop and the café. I hang with the employees and chat with visitors. I’m more affable than I have ever been in my whole life and I wonder how long I can keep this façade going? Was I secretly an extrovert before? Never! I’m sure this will resolve and I’ll return to my previous taciturn self.

In the village, my house is surrounded by other houses, but only close on one end of my house. The neighbors to the north and most of the east have a “chemical” business in their compound. They sell all sorts of remedies and much of it looks like snake oil. I believe there are three generations in that house. Certainly the oldest man and woman I’ve ever seen still walking live there. I love all antiques and they’re not excluded. I do not understand a word they utter, but between the utterances we always smile and wave. I feel better afterwards, I hope they do too.

Perhaps I should step back and explain compound as it relates to housing. While single family houses are becoming more abundant in this country, esp. in the urban areas. Villages are more commonly composed of multi-family dwellings and most of those are built in a u-shape and include an enclosed courtyard (of course the courtyard must be swept). The definition of family here is quite elastic and “family” might include several generations or even several discrete families that are somehow related.

Back to the neighbors, to the west is a sort of duplex where the twin Essies live (Essie in Twi means Sunday born and one’s birth-day name is often more common than any of the other names given. Incidentally, I was born an “Abena,” but I liked Essie better, so I’m called Sister Essie as well as the previously mentioned and it-always-makes-me-laugh-out-loud, Sister Dizzy). To my south are the beautiful sisters, Georgina and Comfort, again living in a large compound with millions of little squealing children. So, that’s my hood here in fabulous Abrafo, home of the world’s most annoying radio despot. Tune in next week for an update!

Ok, I’ve run out of steam here at Oceanview Internet Café on Commercial Street in busy, busy Cape Coast. Now I’m headed for the crazy, insane Kotakraba market (COAT-ah-crob-ah) and my weekly goodies, on this week’s list—oatmeal, whole-wheat bread, fresh veggies, fresh fish (maybe barracuda), garden seeds and a new journal. I’ve already been to the NGO’s office, the bank, the post office and had lunch at my favorite haunt, Global Mamas. In a little bit, I’m gonna cross paths with Sarah and we’ll travel together back to Abrafo for dinner and chatting. Then, watch the eclipse from the park tomorrow.

Healing to Jen, Carter and Carole’s Dad, actually, why not full healing for the entire planet. Let it be….


Live juicy!


Xoxo…d

Yahoo!! I’m finally living in the Abrafo house--Number A19--that cute, big yellow house with a new outhouse!!

The NGO boys moved me a week ago Friday. I was shocked when they actually appeared with a truck to move me, even more shocked when another truck appeared with furniture. So the suspense, the drama, the pivoting is over. Fini!!

Now, I’m settling into my own space for the first time in six months. The suitcase is almost unpacked.

The house has good energy—of course it does!! I don’t know anything about the house’s past and gratefully no one has offered any of those gristly tales of past murder and mayhem. However (you knew their was something, right?), today one of the park guides told me that my village name means “executioner,” and that historically the village was responsible for killing the folks necessary to accompany the chiefs into the afterworld (think Egyptian funereal practices!). OK, so now I live in Execution-town. Believe me; I’m watching my back even though the swords have gone the way of plowshares. This is now mostly a farming village, although many of the park’s employees and wildlife guides live here.

OK, ok, the house?? I know someone will want to know! Well, A19 is one-story bungalow. The house is stucco/masonry construction with a corrugated gabled roof. It is a rectangle, approximately 24 x 60 ft. There are 3 bedrooms, a living room (they call it a “hall”), a kitchen, a storage room (my bike garage), and a shower room (a 5 x 5 ft room that is tiled with a drain hole to the outside). There’s a u-shaped porch that wraps around from one side of the house to the over and splits the house between bedrooms/living room and kit/storage/shower end of the house. This is harder to describe than I thought, but at one end of the house the space is divided into two equal sized bedrooms from which you can either enter from the porch (via doors) or from the living room (again, via doors and both of those doors in both of those rooms are located on the same wall). The living room is a sort of peninsula with a total of four doors—two to the bedrooms and two in opposite directions onto the porch. Next to the living room is a single bedroom (the end of the peninsula) surprisingly with only one door from the porch. All the rooms have two large windows and when the wind is moving the house has good air flow. Incidentally, the house does not have a single closet! The inside colors are Caribbean.

The furniture is fine. I have a nice bed with a head/foot board, a new firm mattress, a desk with a chair, a 3-piece living room set (chair, loveseat, sofa—in brown herculon, whew, no flowers!). The NGO boys claim that a kitchen table and shelves for clothing is on the way. It will take time to repair my trust with them….

A new bamboo fence surrounds the backyard, which is roughly the length of the house by 15 ft. and includes my outhouse. I plan to have a vegetable garden as soon as the rainy season begins next month. For now, there’s no reason to carry water for vegetables. Speaking of carrying water, that is exactly how water gets into my house and now I have someone to help with that chore. Rebecca is an eleven year old who comes every morning to carry water and sweep the floors. Mr. Geenah, the owner of the house, is a charming ancient who started a private elementary/jr high school in town and he insisted that I have some household help. Rebecca’s father lost a leg somehow and my remuneration will assist her family with school fees—this is the right thing to do although it feels more than odd. Mr. Geenah also thinks that I’ll be teaching in his school soon—it could happen, at least a couple hours a week.

In the past week, I’ve gotten curtains up on all the windows. A curtain here means a cheap sheet from the market vendors. I spent about 150,000 cedis, about $15, for all the curtains--10 large windows, or $1.50 each?? Any kind of clothing or textile is here for sale somewhere in Ghana—the world’s largest Goodwill Store, sans house wares and furniture. Sunday is clothing/textile day in most of the markets and you can find some amazing stuff—cow girl boots, jogging pants, sweat suits, sweatshirts, down jackets (why?). While on this topic, let me just add that money here is really weird to me, it seems fake somehow. I understand that I must live on the 1.5 mil cedis that they give me each month, but it is somehow divorced from me. Did I earn that money? Is this the first time that I’ve gotten money from somewhere else?? (Besides you Mom and Pop!). I’ve never felt this awkward about money before. Then there’s the whole expenses issue—how does this all equate into food, transportation, entertainment, etc. costs?? I’m still trying to understand it all. Some days I spend hundreds of thousands and other days not a portion of a cedi. I don’t know how to start besides tracking my expenses, so I have some good data. Yup, I guess I’m a nerd.

I’m running out of steam for the day. I'm in Cape Coast for groceries and a meeting with the NGO boys. While in town, I’ll also mail some letters have my favorite lunch, red-red. Incidentally, I can buy real butter in Cape Coast, not much else, but I’ll take what I can get.

Next time some details: what am I eating? What’s happening at the park? What is village life really like? Birds?????

Healing thoughts to Jen, Carter, and Carole’s Dad.

I miss everyone and everything. I can’t think about what March means in Indiana or the bulbs and spring flowers that will soon dot gardens and slopes….

As always…xoxo…d