If, good intentions are truly the path to hell, then I’ve been feverish. All writing interest and ability abandoned me for nearly a month. Please accept my sincere apologies for the time lapse and any un-necessary concern.

(early September)

I don’t want to go on-and-on about the blasted speaker again, BUT, let me just say that we are both still here. Even with the certainty of moving, nothing really ameliorates the misery of that noise, or sitting in my house after dark wearing earplugs hoping the time will pass quickly and I’ll be able to fall asleep even more quickly. All attempts to live gracefully have failed me today—I’m red-headed mad.

If I wasn’t going to meet Carole in London next week, I’d leave this nightmare tomorrow. Really, I’m over it. I’m delighted that I can’t buy a gun because I’d sure love to shoot that thing into bits (Ghanaians think we all (all Americans) have guns anyway and as you know, I’m all for upholding stereotypes!).

Besides that misery, I’ve been sick again, this time, the lowly intestinal woes. I won’t bore you with the graphic details, but please know that PCVs discuss our physical maladies in great detail—it’s a reliable conversational commodity. Most of us are charter members of the PIYP club--Poop-In-Your-Pants club--given that we must hand-wash everything, this is a serious problem (ok, TMI??). Health, and the lack thereof, constitutes endless hours of chatter on the pros and cons of various medications, treatments, medical personnel, etc. On the general health scale, I consider myself very, very lucky. Thus far, I haven’t been hospitalized, I haven’t lost any organs and I’m still standing fairly straight.

Currently, I’m treating my discomfort as if it’s giardiasis (an intestinal parasite) with flagyl and if that doesn’t work, then I’ll take Cipro, an antibiotic that seems to work for just about any- and everything. The pharmacy around the corner has a wide selection of drugs: common, we would call them, “generics,” although mostly manufactured in China and India; the ubiquitous herbal remedies; and traditional treatments (i.e. from fetish priests and priestesses, which I’m going to consult about something before I leave here). I suspect that any drug ever created is available here somewhere, legal or otherwise. Some of the illegal stuff I often smell. For the legal stuff, you simply consult one of the countless pharmacies, confirm your symptoms, then, they’ll recommend something an appropriate treatment for you, you pay and go. Oddly enough, all the drugs seem really cheap here; the flagyl and cipro cost only about 20,000 cedis (about $2.00).

Besides the common gut issues, for the past 28 days I’ve been taking a HIV/Aids-post-exposure-prophylaxis, due to blood contact from a car wreck where I helped the dozen and a half or so injured/bleeding folks (at the time it didn’t occur to me to wear the gloves that I had in my medical kit—next time? Yes!). That this type of medicine even exists is a miracle—protected from HIV/Aids, really?? I believe the drug is somewhere in the pre-FDA approval state—fortunately we have the developing-world drug trials. Nonetheless, I’m grateful to sidestep even the slightest possibility of HIV transmission; however, the medicine has wicked side effects, short term immune-suppression, nausea and exhaustion. So, I’m limping forward, sick everyday, but hopeful.

For something completely different, on Wednesday, the 13^th, I’m flying to London to enjoy a holiday with my pal Carole. She’s there now working, but she’ll extend her trip so we can have some fun. We don’t have any hard and fast plans. I hope to return from this little trip restored physically, emotionally and spiritually. Besides all that, I have nothing exciting to report--it’s not for lack of trying. In the past week or so, I have revised my hopes for this whole experience. “Revised,” is too strong, actually, it’s more like dumbed-down my hopes. Development work is not as easy as it sounds and my idealism has worn thin from the grind of reality in Ghana—mismanagement and greed (mostly the legacy of colonialism and slavery….). I feel so very disappointed for the rural poor of Ghana, like the folks in my village. They work so very hard and get so very little…. On top of all that, the villagers are accustomed to folks arriving with “things,” money or goods, rather than the “real” tools to improve their lives, such as skills, tools and improved methods (I’m not even talking about the conscious raising necessary for them to believe that the deserve or could even attain anything different or better….).

I can’t believe that I’ve been here almost a year—unbelievable!!

Here I am feeling so low and I just learned that the American Ambassador will visit the park tomorrow and wants to meet the PCV there. Can I plaster a smile on my face or what?? I’m just glad that the ambassador is a woman….

What else is in my heart?

Earlier today I was thinking about the students returning to school here soon and wondering if they still write those, “what I did on my summer vacation” essays. What would the students in Abrafo-Odumase write about? I’m thinking about this since I’ll soon be teaching English to the Junior Secondary Form 3 class, which is roughly the equivalent of 8^th-grade or last year of middle-school. I hope to be more creative than pedantic, but I have no idea what to expect. I’m still waiting for the headmaster to give me last year’s syllabus or this year’s textbook.

Since I last wrote, I’ve acquired a cat (ah-gin-em-moi) and named him Ano (aah-no, twi for mouth—enough said). I came home from a day in Accra last week to find my little dog in heat, is it still called that? I felt like crying when I saw the number of males surrounding the house. My neighbor, Sister Sophia, calls them my “new in-laws,” which doubles me over laughing when I think about it. I’m hoping Adom is too young to conceive, after all, she’s only 6 months old?? Who knows, perhaps, I’ll become both a grandmother and a queen-mother in Ghana. In the meantime, I have to clean the dog urine off the porch daily—urgh, males!!

Before I go further, let me mention the birthday love that arrived via DHL and USPS. Wow, I’m still speechless. I came home and unpacked everything, then both wept and giggled in equal measure. I’ll send appropriate missives to all, but let me just say that the wine from Nancy and Joyce takes the cake, which incidentally arrived with cake, icing, candles and balloons, further accompanied by wonderful scents, cheese nips, books, treats, an angel, a Jesus, a moonstone, leopard-print shorts (Dino, you’ll always make me laugh), goodies for the kids, envelopes, cards, tape…. Thank you for the thoughtfulness and generosity. Any word/s feel small when compared to my gratitude. For the record, let me say that the best part of any largess is sharing the joy with my Ghanaian friends and neighbors. They love anything—the kids have been playing with the balloons for days and the candy is quickly savored.

I can’t believe that I’m fifty years old….

The Peace Corps’ mail-man, Sammy Appiah, asks what I’ve done to have so many friends and I can only blink at him, clueless and appreciative. That reminds me to add, totally unrelated to anything, that this is not the best time of my life, if it was, I would be tempted to stay here beyond the two year period. This is surreal, still! Everyday, I miss my friends and family more than I miss NPR, M & M’s, a car, sipping champagne and the zaniness of American politics, and that’s a hefty heap of love. Please know that you’re missed.

(late September)

Whew!! Scotland in September? Perfect!

I loved everything, especially the cool temperatures and cold toes. I felt a little like one of those lab rats that gets pulled out of the water barrel for awhile, only to be thrown back in after a respite of champagne, food, history, fluffy white sheep in green rolling pastures, bagpipes and friendship. I’m still swimming…. What’s not to like about civilization? Starbucks? Washing machines?

Yes, yes, of course I wanted to buy yards of wool and those exquisite ancestral tartans, but due to luggage restrictions I settled for restocking my deodorant, q-tips, silk slips, etc.

Since I’ve only been back in Abrafo for a week, I don’t have much to report.

( now, early October )

Time is marching along and I simply try to keep up.

This week I started “teaching” at the local school. I’m teaching both Form 2 and Form 3 English (something similar to 8^th and 9^th grade). I’m at the school on Monday and Wednesday mornings, promptly at 8 a.m. so I can see them dance, drum and sing before settling into their classes which begin promptly at 8:15 a.m. Oh, what smart-smart teenagers sit in front of me. This past week focused on introductions and then, questions and answers; they’re keen to know about the U.S. and I’m keen to know about them.

I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that after school most of these students go home, help with dinner and then, study for a few hours. They view education as their only hope for life “off the farm and out of the village.” Of the 26 students, the Headmaster claims that only half will proceed to Senior Secondary School (SSS), their equivalent to our high school. I hope to help them increase that number, but it’s not just brains, it is about money. The Ghanaian government provides primary and junior secondary education free of charge (well, kinda, parents must pony up the money for uniforms, books, etc.), but SSS is purely out-of-pocket. Reason enough to love the U.S. The equation is simple, the better you score on the exams, the better your chances of getting into a subsidized school, less money from the parents. Let me add that their English is far better than my twi ever will be and they know much about the world in a spotty-dalmation way.

Going to school is already the highlight of my week. I can barely think of the NGO without wincing (NGO = Non-Government Organization, sorry Lynsey, I forgot this earlier). Luckily the few bright spots continue--the funny/sweet employees, the park’s biodiversity and larger rainforest ecosystem. Sadly, I can’t have the forest without the NGO. So, my answer is simple, I just go less often, which leaves me rather adrift since my primary project is de-structured, or perhaps deconstructed?? When you add the miserable loud radio days to the miserable NGO days, you get obsession about greener pastures. I think I wrote this before, but I loathe leaving before getting the bicycles here in January. I would disappoint so many people and the bicycles will really, really help so many.

Meanwhile, I’m still waiting on the electric company for an estimate to hook-up the house across the village, which is a good half-kilometer from the speaker, but don’t think for a moment that it’s really that much quieter. I’ll still be wearing earplugs. Breath in, breath out… My pal Kate, the art teacher, is nudging me to repaint. I don’t know why, but I’m dragging my feet. Monday, I plan to visit the electric company and retrieve the estimate—one step toward the thousand miles.

For something more upbeat, did I mention sleeping in the rainforest? A married couple from my training group, Sol and Kendra—Minnesotans, wanted to camp in the rainforest and so we did last month. The park has a camping area, or so it’s called; it’s not camping as we know it. From the main visitor area, following a hilly half-kilometer trail you arrive at the campground. The forest is so dense that you can’t see the campground, but you sorta stumble onto the component parts. There is a composting outhouse, a cold-water shower, running water spigots and about 6 concrete platforms with corrugated tin roofs. The park provides both sleeping mats and mosquito nets.

It is a gi-normous understatement to say that the rainforest is noisy at night. I can’t begin to describe the sounds, we have nothing like them—more cell phones tones and odd video-game soundtracks. Nocturnal things, things that go bump in the night, whatever it all was kept the three of us either laughing, gasping or speechless all night. We got very little sleep, we held hands and we didn’t go to the toilet until dawn. I can’t wait to do it again.

Coming to a close, I want to report that for today, I’m healthy, no problems and I’m feeling fine. Following the HIV/Aids prophylaxis, the medical unit will monitor my blood for the next six months.

So, that’s my story, what’s yours?? Write me, tell me!!

Birthday wishes to Nikki, Missy, Susan Patla, Sara Lenahan and Miki (was it 12?).

Healing energy to Jen, Carole’s Dad and anyone else…

Peace and love to all…

Xoxo….dixie

AKA Auntie Esi

Ps. The American Ambassador, Pamela Bridgewater, came to the park and it was fun. I hope to post a picture soon.