Sanguine or pugnacious??
Ok, ok, I’m ok; you ok? Is anyone really OK?? Then, why be only OK, why not something more interesting and complex, say like, sanguine or pugnacious? (those two words probably sum-up my personality to a “t”).
Deb Bussard nudges me with each letter to post something, anything on this blog. So, thanks to you Deb, I’m trying. I don’t know exactly why, but writing has become torture. I’m a lifelong writer and this development is perplexing. There’s no “block” to it, I just can’t seem to find words to describe much in my world. Following the cobra bite, not much seems important, my story seems a little flat, but I’ll try. Sorry for the slow speed, please don't worry, really you can trust that everything's gonna be alright (isn't that a Bob Marley song??).
Oh, well, first-up for scrutiny will be the four-leggeds. Perhaps they have a story and as many of you already know, I find animals as interesting if not more intereseting than some people....
I must tell you that Adom, that doe-eyed beauty, has gone to live with a crazy German development-worker in the closest district capital, Twifo Praso (tree-foe prah-soo). After her second litter, she adopted an obvious dislike of children, especially those capable of squealing (those being the youngest and most vulnerable of children). Before her deportation, I would be quietly reading in or around the house and my peace would be shattered by the high-pitched wails of terrified children. The red-dirt road by my house is full of children passing to and fro and she tormented one and all. Fortunately, Adom never bit any of them, but she did manage to claim a little boy’s flip-flop one day. He never came back to claim the lost item and the event only elevated her character flaw amongst the locals. I could see only misery ahead, so, sadly I began searching for another home away from children, or a place with a fence. A friend of a friend recommended Andre and after a thorough background check, Adom moved to his house and she now has a larger doting family. I saw her two weeks ago and she seemed happy. By the way, the local dogs, for all their poor treatment and lack of care, are generally very well behaved. I suspect that those dogs born with ill-tempers find their way into stew pots and thus keep the bloodlines amiable. Domestication is rightly a great mystery.
Adom’s first puppy, Wisdom, died a mysterious death. One of my students from last year had adopted Wisdom and all seemed ok, but one day Sammy appeared at my house looking sad. He reported that Wisdom had “coughed then died.” I don’t know what really happened, but I do know that dogs don’t get the same sort of health care, shots, etc., here that they get in the U.S. I’m surprised that animals survive here at all. Besides all the typical problems, I even wonder if they get malaria. I know for a fact that rabies is rampant. I’m still mourning the loss of Wisdom, but hanging in my house is a small oil on canvas painting of Adom and Wisdom by my painter pal Katie. It is a treasure.
So, G3 (generation 3), was Adom’s litter in early May. She had 6 puppies and 3 have survived. Again more mysterious deaths; two puppies seemed to die from malaise and another was eaten by a gang of adult dogs, or so says the former puppy recipient. Of that litter, I have kept a male and female and I named them “Happy” and “Beautiful,” after my two favorite perfumes (yes, I aim for shallowness some days). Incidentally, that was my previous-life in the U.S. daily dilemma, did I want to be “happy” or “beautiful,” as if something sprayed could make a difference. Ok, that’s magical thinking, but there’s something inherently appealing about magical thinking, plus can you really imagine yelling, “world peace, and I mean for everyone” or “energy-efficient, non-polluting, non-toxic and renewable fuel for everyone, no exceptions” every hour or so, but on second thought, why not?? That reminds me of an old friend, who worked as a telephone solicitor one summer and occasionally her group would be asked to go to an office window and scream, “more money,” as a motivating behavior…there’s much to scream about these days. What are you screaming about??
But seriously, I also have a new cat, her name is Crazy. She is a calico, although mostly white. One eye is blue, the other is green. That recessive trait has always sorta spooked me in both animals and people, so I give her a wide berth. She is fond of scaling the screening and perching on the breezeway columns (11 foot above ground), thus the name. Once up, she can’t get down without an intervention, which got old the second time. Ordering a cat to do anything is just plain silly. Do you recall that Gary Larson cartoon about, “what cats hear,” as I recall the text bubble was absolutely empty. Sorry, one of those tangents…. So, the best part of Crazy is her predilection for eating things close to the ground, i.e. lizards, amphibs, insects, snakes, etc. For that skill, I’m most grateful and that earns her great smoked fish everyday.
I should mention that just last week another snake appeared in the breezeway, at nearly the exact location of the biting cobra. It was evening and I bounced out of the house to visit the toilet. On my way across the breezeway, I saw a snake curl and coil, then my heart stopped, and I mean STOPPED, SCREECHED TO A STOP, THEN STAYED STILL FOR A LONG TIME. Until I could start panting and focus my eyes and gather some wits (honestly, I never understood that phrase before, but it perfectly describes my process). Everything in my possession that could kill a snake was in the storage room on the other side of the snake; so, I trotted across the road to the wildlife staff quarters and one of the senior officers happily returned with me and dispatched the snake with his machete (never mind, that the wildlife crew is sworn to protect native animal species, snakes, I’ve learned are somehow except from protection). Fortunately, the specimen in my house was a nonpoisonous species. We could only guess that it had entered via the small space under the screen door. Now, I’m keeping my machete in the bedroom and the carpenter has added a stop under all the doors.
While on the topic of snakes, I should add that while my foot appears normal, there are days when it swells without provocation, or feels hot, or my foot turns bright pink. On those days, I believe the snake that bit me is nearby and I take extra precautions. One of the villagers suggested that perhaps the snake wants to apologize?? Hmmm. Snake or no snake, I’m going back to the snake specialist in Accra Thursday for a follow-up visit. I don’t expect any real news. Before leaving Ghana, I’d like to visit the local witch-doctor-herbalist. Many of the villagers feel he could end my post snake bite symptoms. Some of them even assert that the fangs are still in my foot. I don’t know anything, but I do know I’m gonna get a snake tattoo when I get back to the U.S.
My work situation keeps improving. As I mentioned last time, I’m finally officially switched from the evil NGO to the Wildlife Division of the Forestry Commission, a department of the Lands Ministry of the Ghanaian government. That means there’s more than your usual amount of bureaucracy. On the positive side, they’re a friendlier bunch and they do try to serve the public interest. “Friendlier” means that they like to have parties, socialize and drink. But seriously, they’re rather like big boisterous Irish family— lots of internal jabbing and at the same time aggressive towards outsiders. Unlike the U.S. National Park Service, which features both law enforcement as well as interpretive focus, this group is mostly enforcement based (think military). Thus, the emphasis is on catching poachers, not on educating and enlightening the visitors. Regardless, I have been admitted to their club and I feel both safe and protected, which I hadn’t felt here before. In fact the NGO boys seemed to delight in keeping me slightly off-kilter.
The work with Wildlife will probably be spotty—something this week, but a week of nothing, which sounds ok to me. Two weeks ago I assisted in a two-week tour guide training. Honestly, it was one of the first times that I felt I could contribute and it was one of the first times that I was actually asked to contribute about the welfare of the park. Finally!!! The next project is probably some sort of fundraising or creating sound-spaces in the park (this is a “new” concept in national parks—sound as destination). Clearly the Wildlife gang is a better match for me. Even the haphazard schedule allows me to pursue other projects in the village--teaching, the girls group and other little endeavors still in the dream stages.
Speaking of dreams, last week the bicycle project finally ended. It took more than ten months, but at long last 120 bikes were delivered and distributed in my village. The half-day workshops empower all the recipients and I can only swell with awe seeing the bikes around the place. They call the bikes, “Auntie Esi’s bikes.” I only pray that no one perishes while riding one.
Another dream came true in August (gosh that was over a month ago, what have I been doing??). While I was waiting for the transfer from the NGO, my supervisor asked me to assist with a community cultural tourism assessment of a weaving community in northern Ghana. I jumped at the chance since I’m totally and absolutely enamored with textiles here (remember Ghana is the home of kente cloth, prized throughout the world for its beauty and history—if you don’t know anything about it, “Google” it). I spent a week in the community with a young woman from Ghana, who had recently graduated from one of Ghana’s universities. It was a first experience of working with a bright, young female from Ghana (oh, I have never given up on feminism….). At the park I have encountered countless well-educated young men, but this was my first well-educated young woman. Patricia was just lovely and the time was productive.
The village, Daboya (da boy yah) is renowned for their traditionally woven smocks, also called fugus. They are worn all over Ghana, but most common in the Muslim northern half of the country. The smocks are made from three to four inch woven strips that are sewn together to create a rather oversized shirt. (I’ll try to post pictures at--sorry, i didn't get this done, but will try again later). Besides weaving and sewing, the community also spins thread, dyes the yarn and sells the end product. I was simply speechless at the dye pits that use locally grown indigo. Indigo and other ingredients make the pits rather fragrant. In fact it is both the scent and the color blue that makes the Daboya smocks distinctive. (I recall that African slaves were used to farm indigo in the pre-Civil War south). The report is 90 percent done and essentially we are recommending a Peace Corps volunteer assist the community develop their tourism potential (human capacity building--help train tour guides, develop marketing strategies, etc.). I only wish I was going there to work for two years, I would love it. While there, I remembered art, how did I forget art?? Now, that’s a subject for another day….
My not so small girl Alice has finally left Abrafo for senior secondary school, but not without a big fight with her father, which has left me irritated and annoyed. Alice scored very well on her exams last year and her father, who works at the park as a maintenance supervisor, claimed he would send her to school. However, when it came time to pay the fees, something close to $180 for three months, her father claimed he had no money. School began two weeks ago and this, “has money” vs. “has no money” story continued while Alice sat at home. (I should add that Alice is the oldest of 14 children and her stepmother just gave birth to her 8th child. Families this large are no longer that common in Ghana, but it used to be the norm. Alice is treated like an ugly stepchild by the stepmother, who often refuses to feed her—urgh, urgh, urgh!!) Finally, I agreed to pay her school fees if the father would buy some petty, petty things. It took more work, more talking and finally threats to get the man to do what he said he’d do. I’m so sad that girls have to struggle here for education—this story is not unusual. I’m mad at Alice’s father and the whole system. This is a rant that might never end, so I’ll stop here…. Suffice to say that I’m happy Alice is now staying in a hostel at the nearby school. I’ll be able to visit her on weekends. For her father, I can only hope for a public castration.
And finally, my last news. Since I last wrote my dear friend Kate has returned to the U.S. after her two years at the Cape Coast School for the Deaf where she taught art. I spent time with Katie almost every week and her absence has been like a missing front tooth, you know how your tongue won’t leave the space?? Here in the x-pat/development work world, friends are fast to come and go. Some don’t leave the heart so fast; Katie is like that. That is also true for my other pal, Sarah, who is leaving this week after a big send-off party in her village. I’ll try to include some pictures soon of that event—drumming, dancing and merrymaking are planned. Like Katie, Sarah’s departure will leave another big hole. We have been meeting almost every week since arriving in Ghana at the same time, plus we were assigned to the same NGO and endured the same crap. Oh, woe!!
Let me end this prattle with gratitude. The letters continue to brighten my days. Packages full of goodies make my life sweeter—chocolates and body creams couldn’t be more perfect. Goodies for the kids make them feel oh-so-special. I want to especially thank Kathy Shrum, a RPCV (returned Peace Corps volunteer) and former resident of Indianapolis who has adopted me.
Also, belated birthday wishes to Shawna, Brenda, Kathy Egli, brother-in-law Brad, Gayle H., Kris and Barb, sister-in-law Missy, my twins Jane Barker and cuz Diane (both 14th girls), Donna Jones, Pop, nephew Jon, sister-in-law Lynda, Ruthie B., niece Nikki, Terri Mc, Joy, Sara Lenahan and forward to Marilyn P, Susan and Becky Whitney. Sorry, I know I’ve forgotten someone, or something???? For just ebout everything that needs and excuse or explanation, here in Ghana we say it’s due to the heat. It has been really hot lately, I think!!
Healing energy to Jen and everyone else…believe it, it’s real and it works….
Much, much love to all…d
ps. You might be wondering when I’m coming home. Well, definitely I’ll be home for christmas and that’s not so far away….
pss. my photos have moved, now they are at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dixiebird/
Ok, ok, I’m ok; you ok? Is anyone really OK?? Then, why be only OK, why not something more interesting and complex, say like, sanguine or pugnacious? (those two words probably sum-up my personality to a “t”).
Deb Bussard nudges me with each letter to post something, anything on this blog. So, thanks to you Deb, I’m trying. I don’t know exactly why, but writing has become torture. I’m a lifelong writer and this development is perplexing. There’s no “block” to it, I just can’t seem to find words to describe much in my world. Following the cobra bite, not much seems important, my story seems a little flat, but I’ll try. Sorry for the slow speed, please don't worry, really you can trust that everything's gonna be alright (isn't that a Bob Marley song??).
Oh, well, first-up for scrutiny will be the four-leggeds. Perhaps they have a story and as many of you already know, I find animals as interesting if not more intereseting than some people....
I must tell you that Adom, that doe-eyed beauty, has gone to live with a crazy German development-worker in the closest district capital, Twifo Praso (tree-foe prah-soo). After her second litter, she adopted an obvious dislike of children, especially those capable of squealing (those being the youngest and most vulnerable of children). Before her deportation, I would be quietly reading in or around the house and my peace would be shattered by the high-pitched wails of terrified children. The red-dirt road by my house is full of children passing to and fro and she tormented one and all. Fortunately, Adom never bit any of them, but she did manage to claim a little boy’s flip-flop one day. He never came back to claim the lost item and the event only elevated her character flaw amongst the locals. I could see only misery ahead, so, sadly I began searching for another home away from children, or a place with a fence. A friend of a friend recommended Andre and after a thorough background check, Adom moved to his house and she now has a larger doting family. I saw her two weeks ago and she seemed happy. By the way, the local dogs, for all their poor treatment and lack of care, are generally very well behaved. I suspect that those dogs born with ill-tempers find their way into stew pots and thus keep the bloodlines amiable. Domestication is rightly a great mystery.
Adom’s first puppy, Wisdom, died a mysterious death. One of my students from last year had adopted Wisdom and all seemed ok, but one day Sammy appeared at my house looking sad. He reported that Wisdom had “coughed then died.” I don’t know what really happened, but I do know that dogs don’t get the same sort of health care, shots, etc., here that they get in the U.S. I’m surprised that animals survive here at all. Besides all the typical problems, I even wonder if they get malaria. I know for a fact that rabies is rampant. I’m still mourning the loss of Wisdom, but hanging in my house is a small oil on canvas painting of Adom and Wisdom by my painter pal Katie. It is a treasure.
So, G3 (generation 3), was Adom’s litter in early May. She had 6 puppies and 3 have survived. Again more mysterious deaths; two puppies seemed to die from malaise and another was eaten by a gang of adult dogs, or so says the former puppy recipient. Of that litter, I have kept a male and female and I named them “Happy” and “Beautiful,” after my two favorite perfumes (yes, I aim for shallowness some days). Incidentally, that was my previous-life in the U.S. daily dilemma, did I want to be “happy” or “beautiful,” as if something sprayed could make a difference. Ok, that’s magical thinking, but there’s something inherently appealing about magical thinking, plus can you really imagine yelling, “world peace, and I mean for everyone” or “energy-efficient, non-polluting, non-toxic and renewable fuel for everyone, no exceptions” every hour or so, but on second thought, why not?? That reminds me of an old friend, who worked as a telephone solicitor one summer and occasionally her group would be asked to go to an office window and scream, “more money,” as a motivating behavior…there’s much to scream about these days. What are you screaming about??
But seriously, I also have a new cat, her name is Crazy. She is a calico, although mostly white. One eye is blue, the other is green. That recessive trait has always sorta spooked me in both animals and people, so I give her a wide berth. She is fond of scaling the screening and perching on the breezeway columns (11 foot above ground), thus the name. Once up, she can’t get down without an intervention, which got old the second time. Ordering a cat to do anything is just plain silly. Do you recall that Gary Larson cartoon about, “what cats hear,” as I recall the text bubble was absolutely empty. Sorry, one of those tangents…. So, the best part of Crazy is her predilection for eating things close to the ground, i.e. lizards, amphibs, insects, snakes, etc. For that skill, I’m most grateful and that earns her great smoked fish everyday.
I should mention that just last week another snake appeared in the breezeway, at nearly the exact location of the biting cobra. It was evening and I bounced out of the house to visit the toilet. On my way across the breezeway, I saw a snake curl and coil, then my heart stopped, and I mean STOPPED, SCREECHED TO A STOP, THEN STAYED STILL FOR A LONG TIME. Until I could start panting and focus my eyes and gather some wits (honestly, I never understood that phrase before, but it perfectly describes my process). Everything in my possession that could kill a snake was in the storage room on the other side of the snake; so, I trotted across the road to the wildlife staff quarters and one of the senior officers happily returned with me and dispatched the snake with his machete (never mind, that the wildlife crew is sworn to protect native animal species, snakes, I’ve learned are somehow except from protection). Fortunately, the specimen in my house was a nonpoisonous species. We could only guess that it had entered via the small space under the screen door. Now, I’m keeping my machete in the bedroom and the carpenter has added a stop under all the doors.
While on the topic of snakes, I should add that while my foot appears normal, there are days when it swells without provocation, or feels hot, or my foot turns bright pink. On those days, I believe the snake that bit me is nearby and I take extra precautions. One of the villagers suggested that perhaps the snake wants to apologize?? Hmmm. Snake or no snake, I’m going back to the snake specialist in Accra Thursday for a follow-up visit. I don’t expect any real news. Before leaving Ghana, I’d like to visit the local witch-doctor-herbalist. Many of the villagers feel he could end my post snake bite symptoms. Some of them even assert that the fangs are still in my foot. I don’t know anything, but I do know I’m gonna get a snake tattoo when I get back to the U.S.
My work situation keeps improving. As I mentioned last time, I’m finally officially switched from the evil NGO to the Wildlife Division of the Forestry Commission, a department of the Lands Ministry of the Ghanaian government. That means there’s more than your usual amount of bureaucracy. On the positive side, they’re a friendlier bunch and they do try to serve the public interest. “Friendlier” means that they like to have parties, socialize and drink. But seriously, they’re rather like big boisterous Irish family— lots of internal jabbing and at the same time aggressive towards outsiders. Unlike the U.S. National Park Service, which features both law enforcement as well as interpretive focus, this group is mostly enforcement based (think military). Thus, the emphasis is on catching poachers, not on educating and enlightening the visitors. Regardless, I have been admitted to their club and I feel both safe and protected, which I hadn’t felt here before. In fact the NGO boys seemed to delight in keeping me slightly off-kilter.
The work with Wildlife will probably be spotty—something this week, but a week of nothing, which sounds ok to me. Two weeks ago I assisted in a two-week tour guide training. Honestly, it was one of the first times that I felt I could contribute and it was one of the first times that I was actually asked to contribute about the welfare of the park. Finally!!! The next project is probably some sort of fundraising or creating sound-spaces in the park (this is a “new” concept in national parks—sound as destination). Clearly the Wildlife gang is a better match for me. Even the haphazard schedule allows me to pursue other projects in the village--teaching, the girls group and other little endeavors still in the dream stages.
Speaking of dreams, last week the bicycle project finally ended. It took more than ten months, but at long last 120 bikes were delivered and distributed in my village. The half-day workshops empower all the recipients and I can only swell with awe seeing the bikes around the place. They call the bikes, “Auntie Esi’s bikes.” I only pray that no one perishes while riding one.
Another dream came true in August (gosh that was over a month ago, what have I been doing??). While I was waiting for the transfer from the NGO, my supervisor asked me to assist with a community cultural tourism assessment of a weaving community in northern Ghana. I jumped at the chance since I’m totally and absolutely enamored with textiles here (remember Ghana is the home of kente cloth, prized throughout the world for its beauty and history—if you don’t know anything about it, “Google” it). I spent a week in the community with a young woman from Ghana, who had recently graduated from one of Ghana’s universities. It was a first experience of working with a bright, young female from Ghana (oh, I have never given up on feminism….). At the park I have encountered countless well-educated young men, but this was my first well-educated young woman. Patricia was just lovely and the time was productive.
The village, Daboya (da boy yah) is renowned for their traditionally woven smocks, also called fugus. They are worn all over Ghana, but most common in the Muslim northern half of the country. The smocks are made from three to four inch woven strips that are sewn together to create a rather oversized shirt. (I’ll try to post pictures at--sorry, i didn't get this done, but will try again later). Besides weaving and sewing, the community also spins thread, dyes the yarn and sells the end product. I was simply speechless at the dye pits that use locally grown indigo. Indigo and other ingredients make the pits rather fragrant. In fact it is both the scent and the color blue that makes the Daboya smocks distinctive. (I recall that African slaves were used to farm indigo in the pre-Civil War south). The report is 90 percent done and essentially we are recommending a Peace Corps volunteer assist the community develop their tourism potential (human capacity building--help train tour guides, develop marketing strategies, etc.). I only wish I was going there to work for two years, I would love it. While there, I remembered art, how did I forget art?? Now, that’s a subject for another day….
My not so small girl Alice has finally left Abrafo for senior secondary school, but not without a big fight with her father, which has left me irritated and annoyed. Alice scored very well on her exams last year and her father, who works at the park as a maintenance supervisor, claimed he would send her to school. However, when it came time to pay the fees, something close to $180 for three months, her father claimed he had no money. School began two weeks ago and this, “has money” vs. “has no money” story continued while Alice sat at home. (I should add that Alice is the oldest of 14 children and her stepmother just gave birth to her 8th child. Families this large are no longer that common in Ghana, but it used to be the norm. Alice is treated like an ugly stepchild by the stepmother, who often refuses to feed her—urgh, urgh, urgh!!) Finally, I agreed to pay her school fees if the father would buy some petty, petty things. It took more work, more talking and finally threats to get the man to do what he said he’d do. I’m so sad that girls have to struggle here for education—this story is not unusual. I’m mad at Alice’s father and the whole system. This is a rant that might never end, so I’ll stop here…. Suffice to say that I’m happy Alice is now staying in a hostel at the nearby school. I’ll be able to visit her on weekends. For her father, I can only hope for a public castration.
And finally, my last news. Since I last wrote my dear friend Kate has returned to the U.S. after her two years at the Cape Coast School for the Deaf where she taught art. I spent time with Katie almost every week and her absence has been like a missing front tooth, you know how your tongue won’t leave the space?? Here in the x-pat/development work world, friends are fast to come and go. Some don’t leave the heart so fast; Katie is like that. That is also true for my other pal, Sarah, who is leaving this week after a big send-off party in her village. I’ll try to include some pictures soon of that event—drumming, dancing and merrymaking are planned. Like Katie, Sarah’s departure will leave another big hole. We have been meeting almost every week since arriving in Ghana at the same time, plus we were assigned to the same NGO and endured the same crap. Oh, woe!!
Let me end this prattle with gratitude. The letters continue to brighten my days. Packages full of goodies make my life sweeter—chocolates and body creams couldn’t be more perfect. Goodies for the kids make them feel oh-so-special. I want to especially thank Kathy Shrum, a RPCV (returned Peace Corps volunteer) and former resident of Indianapolis who has adopted me.
Also, belated birthday wishes to Shawna, Brenda, Kathy Egli, brother-in-law Brad, Gayle H., Kris and Barb, sister-in-law Missy, my twins Jane Barker and cuz Diane (both 14th girls), Donna Jones, Pop, nephew Jon, sister-in-law Lynda, Ruthie B., niece Nikki, Terri Mc, Joy, Sara Lenahan and forward to Marilyn P, Susan and Becky Whitney. Sorry, I know I’ve forgotten someone, or something???? For just ebout everything that needs and excuse or explanation, here in Ghana we say it’s due to the heat. It has been really hot lately, I think!!
Healing energy to Jen and everyone else…believe it, it’s real and it works….
Much, much love to all…d
ps. You might be wondering when I’m coming home. Well, definitely I’ll be home for christmas and that’s not so far away….
pss. my photos have moved, now they are at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dixiebird/
posted by Dixie | 3:14 AM
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